Some Things Were Always Meant to Be
by starbrightnights
Summary: In the aftermath of the shooting, in the devastation, something vital was missed and precious time wasted. Is it too late?
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first LND story, probably my last, but I had this idea that wouldn't go away, so it could be awful, but please let me know what you think! I haven't written for ages and I'm poorly (long-term, unfortunately), so I'll apologise now if it takes me a while to update (and, also, sorry that this chapter is quite short), but please bear with me :) I did some research to find out how all this worked back then, to check what could/couldn't be done, so hopefully I've got it near enough accurate, but if you know something I don't, then let me know and I'll do some editing. Thanks!**

**If you need to know who they look like, in my head it's the original London cast. Saw the show twice, before and after the changes were put in, and loved it. I've also watched the Australian one, which I did enjoy (mostly for the sets), so if you'd prefer that cast, go for it :) I just adored the London cast!**

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Erik knew how it felt to die inside, knew the unending agony of being parted from the one you love so much that the sun never seemed to rise when they weren't around, the days blurring into one, years passing before you'd even blinked. But he'd pushed through, working towards the seemingly unreachable light at the end of the tunnel, and suddenly she'd come back, after what had felt like a lifetime and also no time at all. And she'd chosen him. At the end of it all, she'd chosen _him_, and he'd been overjoyed, his heart fit to burst from happiness - his Christine was really _his. _All that pain and longing and suffering in the dark had been worth every second, because she was his and he was hers and they had a child, a glorious, wonderful, beautiful child, who was the best parts of both of them, and then...

She was gone.

Just as quickly as she'd came.

And he'd died all over again.

Looking down at the young boy in his arms, Erik held him tighter as his son started to weep again, and vowed to keep him safe, to carry on for him. Gustave would repair Erik's broken heart and teach him a new kind of love, a new kind of happiness. The affection he'd felt for the boy when he'd discovered who he was had been instantaneous, his parental instinct taking him by complete surprise. There was nothing he wouldn't do for him, nothing he wouldn't give him. Gustave was his chance, now, his chance at a normal life.

"Mama..." Gustave cried into Erik's shoulder, voice muffled against the material of his coat. Small hands grabbed at his lapels, and Erik shifted from his knees so he could sit properly, cradling Gustave in his lap as if he were still a baby. The poor boy. It had been clear to see just how close he'd been to his mother, and he must be so scared, so frightened at the prospect of life without her.

"I'm sorry, Gustave, I'm so sorry."

"_Christine?_"

Erik blinked, having momentarily forgotten that Raoul was there, holding his dead wife in his arms.

"_Christine!"_

Gustave sobbed, and Erik's head snapped up. "Vicomte!" he growled, not wanting his son to be scared anymore than he already was.

Raoul, pale and exhausted, looked at Erik with urgency. "She's _breathing_!"

"What?"

"A flutter, on my cheek, but I felt it..."

Erik gently prised himself from Gustave's grasp, giving him a quick look of reassurance before rushing to Christine's side, his heart pounding. She couldn't be... could she? He held a hand against Christine's mouth, waiting for any sign that she could still be alive. At first, he felt nothing, and he wanted to punch Raoul for getting their hopes up, his blood boiling. And then he felt it. Gentle, barely there, a ghost of a whisper, but he felt it. She wasn't dead – the blood loss had made her lose consciousness. Oh, how could he have been so stupid? Quick as a flash, Erik placed pressure against the wound in Christine's stomach, cursing himself. How long had she been freely bleeding out for since he'd thought she'd gone? Minutes, precious minutes that could have a profound effect on her eventual outcome.

"I thought she was dead! Why didn't you check?"

"I... I did. She wasn't breathing, I was certain of it! Quick, put your coat around her, she's freezing!"

"Mother!"

"Gustave..." Erik started, but he didn't know what to say, so he just watched as his son grasped his mother's hand and begged her to wake up. Where was that damn doctor? As soon as the thought entered his head, a figure appeared though the mist, and running up the pier, Madame Giry trailing behind, was the doctor.

"We thought she was dead, but she's breathing – barely, but she's breathing. Oh, God, the blood, there's so much blood..." Raoul gently passed Christine to the doctor, and Erik was sure the man was about to be sick.

"She won't be alive for much longer if we don't get her to the hospital," the doctor said frankly, quickly checking her over. "There's an ambulance waiting at the end of the pier – she'll have to go to Kings. Pick her up, gently," he ordered Erik, who swept Christine up in his arms and followed the old man back up the pier, trying not to jog her about too much as he ran, Gustave and Raoul right next to him.

"But Kings is miles away! It's half an hour, at least – she won't make it!"

"She needs surgery, and she won't get that at Coney. All we can do is hope and pray."

It seemed to take a lifetime to get to the ambulance, but when it appeared through the haze, Erik had never been so pleased to see anything in his life, the angel in his arms and his son aside. He placed Christine carefully into the carriage, and was then shooed away by the doctor.

"I'm going with her," he said, voice commanding, but the doctor shook his head.

"No, there isn't enough room. There are things I need to do for her. But I do need the boy - she'll need a blood transfusion and them being related is her best chance. You'll have to follow behind. I'll do my very best for her, I promise."

"What? My blood!"

"Gustave, listen to me." Erik knelt down and placed his hands on his son's shoulders, doing his best soothe him. "Your mother is very sick, but you could help save her life. I know you're scared, but at the end of it, you'll be fine, I promise. She needs you to be brave for her - can you do that?"

Teary-eyed and obviously terrified, Gustave nodded, and let himself be lifted into the carriage.

"Good boy. We'll be right behind."

And with that, the carriage was ordered to leave, the horse breaking into a canter as it pulled away, and all Erik could do was watch helplessly as he saw the doctor pressing pads against Christine's stomach and checking her pulse, a tear running down his cheek. He sniffed, and wiped it away harshly.

"I'll go with you," Madame Giry suddenly spoke up.

Erik turned and looked at her solemnly. "No, madame, you will not. Go and look after your daughter – she needs you."

"I'm so sorry..."

"Go."

Madame Giry nodded and hurried off, her usually stoic resolve completely broken.

"And what about me?"

Erik didn't want to see Raoul's face ever again, but he found that now, after everything, he couldn't deny him the chance to know what would happen to Christine. To send him away when she was close to death, no matter how much he hated the man, wouldn't be right, because despite his drunkenness and his gambling, he would always love Christine, and Erik couldn't change that. He'd got the girl, so he couldn't take this away from the dejected Vicomte as well. "Come," was all he said, as he walked away.

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**Hope you enjoyed! Please drop me a review if you did. The hospitals mentioned are real hospitals that were in that area at that time. I love Google XD**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to those who reviewed! I'm glad you enjoyed it :) While I'm here, does anyone know how to insert the accent over the 'e' in 'Daae'? I went to the insert character option, but I couldn't find it. Any ideas? I feel bad for slightly butchering her name by not spelling it with the correct pronunciation.**

** Hope you all like the new chapter!**

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Minutes earlier the heavens had opened, and now the streets were awash with grey, the heavy rain beating against the side of the carriage in a never-ending drum roll, making Erik's already pounding headache even worse. Thunder rumbled overhead, and he closed his eyes at the flash of lightning that tore through the sky, momentarily ripping it in half before it sealed itself up again. Like Magic. Erik was good at magic - no, Erik was a _master_ at magic. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't think of a single way to bring this nightmare to an end. Christine was dying, her life pouring out of her, that beautiful soul fading, clinging on helplessly, desperately, but slipping too quickly. For all he knew, she could be dead right now. There was every chance she wouldn't make it to the hospital in time. No, what he needed wasn't magic - it was a miracle.

Erik bit down on his tongue to stop the tears that were threatening to well in his eyes. He was very aware of Raoul sitting on the other side of the carriage, slumped in defeat against the window, and didn't want to draw any attention to himself by losing control of his emotions. He would very much like to continue this journey in silence. His head was a battlefield, full of 'What ifs' and 'If I hadn'ts'. It was futile, he knew, but he couldn't stop torturing himself. Of course it was his fault. Christine might not see it like that, but Erik had once again let his obsession go too far and had ignored all those around him who had been working hard to make him happy. Although, it wasn't just obsession; it was obsession fuelled by love. A deep, impenetrable, true love that he'd never, ever thought he'd feel for anyone or anything, not after all the harshness the world had cruelly thrust upon him. But then he'd heard her, all those years ago, heard her sweet voice, and that had been it. It hadn't been a lover's love at first, for she had just been a child, fifteen years old and full of innocence. And then, a few years later, she'd returned from a summer holiday very much a woman. She'd taken his breath away, her beauty radiating from every part of her, and he'd known, in that moment, that there wouldn't be any going back. He'd spent all that time hidden from her, teaching her from the shadows, and then he'd lost his head, daring to reach out to her, to show her his world, desperate to make her love him back and frightening her in the process. He'd never meant to, of course - he hadn't meant to do a lot of the things he'd done all that time ago, and he was ashamed now - but back then it had been so hard to control his rage, control his jealousy. He'd been coping, just, but then the young Vicomte had come along to claim her heart, and it had torn him up inside, because Raoul was young and beautiful and he… He was a monster hiding underground in the dark. Except, at the end of it, after letting her go after she'd kissed him so fully, witnessed all she was willing to sacrifice in order to let Raoul live and been left completely dumbfounded by what he'd done and by just how brave and selfless his Christine was, she'd come back to him, seeking him out the night before her wedding, unsure of the decision she'd made. In the dark she'd reached for him, nervously but never hesitantly, her cool hand gently caressing his good cheek while her other hand removed his mask. He'd made no move to stop her, not wanting to scare her away, to ruin the moment. With her hands unflinchingly on his face, he'd wanted to cry, unable to believe she'd really come back to him, all on her own volition. His heart had been pounding, his skin had prickled with heat, but he'd made no move to touch her, scared that anything he did would be seen as taking advantage. But then, suddenly, she'd pulled his face to hers and kissed him so desperately that all he could do was wrap himself around her, give into his urges, and then they'd fallen…

The carriage jolted to a stop, jogging Erik rather harshly out of his reverie. Shaking his head to clear it, he was surprised to find that they'd arrived at the hospital already. He jumped out, urgency overtaking him once more, and ran full pelt into the building, Raoul hot on his heels. Or he was, until the man himself caught him by surprise and slammed him into the wall of the corridor they had just entered, glaring at him angrily, his face bright red.

"Now, you listen to- Ooooffff!"

Erik, the stronger of the two, shoved the raging Vicomte backwards into the opposite wall, his hand at Raoul's throat. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Raoul struggled to get free, gasping against the tight grip, his hands clawing uselessly.

"How_ dare_ you," Erik growled, dangerously. "Christine is dying and you choose to start a fight in a hospital, how very noble of you, you spineless, pitiful creature." He dropped him then, letting Raoul, coughing and spluttering, slide to the floor.

"She's… She's _my_ wife," he rasped. "Not yours, mine! I'll be the one to go to her, not you!"

Erik grabbed Raoul by the collar and hauled him up. "If Christine wasn't in such a desperate situation I'd kill you where you stand, but I will not waste time by standing here and listening to your petulance. She chose _me_. Are you really surprised? Now, you can either stay here, leave, or come along - either way, I'm going to her."

* * *

"Excuse me, Christine Daae - where is she?"

The young nurse started at the sight of Erik's masked face looming close to hers, but composed herself quickly. "She's in surgery, sir."

Raoul pushed himself forward. "She's still alive?" he asked, relief spreading across his face.

"When they took her in, yes. I'm afraid I can't tell you any more until she's out."

Erik ran a hand down the exposed side of his face. Christine had made it to the hospital alive, and all they could do now was wait. He looked at the nurse again. "The boy - where's Gustave?"

"He's having his blood drawn, sir. He's just in a room round the corner. Please, have a seat - as soon as the doctor is done, I'll come and fetch you and you can see him."

As she started to walk off, Raoul grabbed her arm. "Please, take me to him. I should be in there with him - he'll be scared."

The nurse pulled herself gently from his grip and smiled at him apologetically. "I'm afraid the doctor won't allow anyone in now the procedure has begun. Please, sir, just have a seat. It won't be long."

Raoul sighed and slumped down into one of the chairs. Erik, though, could only pace, his blood still boiling from Raoul's attempt to fight him.

"I think a part of me always wondered, you know, if Gustave was mine."

Erik stopped and turned towards the bitter Vicomte. He said nothing, but waited for him to continue.

"He doesn't look anything like me. I suppose that might not be so strange, but he's nothing like me, either. But I ignored that niggle, because why would Christine ever… with you…" he looked disgusted. "But it's true, isn't it? He is just like _you_. More good natured, clearly, but his music, the way he plays, it's just… And he's so inquisitive. Of course, I know all little boys are curious, but he's so different from all his friends. He gets swept up in magic and mystery. He's never been afraid of the dark. And he gets this flash in his eyes, when he's angry - which is hardly ever, but when he does…" Raoul shook his head. "It's the same one I saw in your eyes just now. The same one I saw in the bar. The same one I saw all those years ago back at the opera house."

Erik, calmer now, stared at Raoul pityingly. "I don't know what you expect me to say. I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry that she came to me. I'm not sorry that she had my child and not yours."

Raoul laughed, harshly. "No, I wouldn't expect you to be. But I love him, you know. I always will. I raised him as my own - I always wanted to believe he was. It's part of the reason I started drinking, started gambling and throwing our money away. It kept the little voice in the back of my head locked firmly away. The other part was that I knew Christine would always love you. No matter how much she loved me, she'd always love you more, and I couldn't bear it. Because why? Look at you."

"Still want to play that game, Vicomte?" Erik asked, as he stepped closer to him, voice dripping with contempt.

Raoul sniffed and shook his head. "There's no point, is there," he said, dejectedly, not a question, but a statement.

Erik said nothing, and sat down a few seats away from him.

They sat in silence, not another word uttered until, just over half-an-hour after they'd arrived, the nurse came to tell them she would take them to Gustave. The little boy looked pale and drawn, lying on a bed on top of the sheets, a small dressing on his arm where the needle had been. After being assured by the nurse that he was fine, Raoul stepped into the room fully, a sad smile playing on his face as Gustave called "Papa!" happily when he saw him. Erik hovered in the doorway, watching with carefully masked jealousy as Raoul stroked the boy's hair and told him how proud he was for being so brave.

"It did hurt, papa, but not much - it mostly made me feel dizzy. The nurse said she'd bring me a sandwich to help make me feel better."

"Good, that's good."

"Will mama be ok, now?" Gustave asked, his eyes shining hopefully.

The look on Gustave's face made Erik's heart sink. The child was so proud that he'd helped his mother that Erik was sure he would blame himself somehow if Christine didn't pull through. He didn't ever want Gustave to go around thinking what he did wasn't good enough, but he didn't want to lie to him, either. So, before Raoul could reply, he said, "All we can do is pray, my dear boy. Just know that, whatever happens, you did your absolute very best."

"Mister Y! I didn't see you there."

Erik's heart swelled - Gustave looked pleased to see him!

"Won't you come in?"

"Yes, of course."

"Papa, move up so Mister Y can sit on the end of the bed."

Raoul's face briefly registered pain at the now seemingly unquestionable acceptance of the man in the mask, before doing as he was asked. As Erik sat, he saw him rub wearily at his eyes, then take a deep breath. What happened next, Erik completely didn't expect, especially not at this moment.

"Gustave," Raoul began, laying a hand gently on the boy's arm. "You know when you ran to fetch me from the hotel, and you told me what your mother said about Mister Y?"

Gustave nodded and looked down at his hands, everything rushing back to him as he replayed the evening's events in his head.

Erik shifted on the bed uncomfortably.

"Well, you know it's true, don't you?"

"But how, papa?"

"Well…" Raoul sighed in defeat. "A long time ago, before your mother and I got married, she loved someone else, but one day, he disappeared, and she thought he'd died. She didn't want you to grow up without a father, and your mother and I had known each other since we were children and had always been fond of each other, so I asked her to marry me, so I could look after you both."

Gustave looked confused, and turned to Erik questioningly. "Why did you go away and make mama think you were dead?"

Erik looked at his son with regret heavy in his eyes. "I didn't want to, Gustave, believe me. I loved her with all of my heart, and I still do, that's never changed. But… You saw my face - she didn't deserve me. She deserved someone who she could walk in the light with, someone who wouldn't get ridiculed wherever he went. I didn't want people to not talk to her. I'm not bothered by what people think of me anymore, but I didn't want your mother to be shunned, so I left so she could have a better life. But I swear, Gustave, I didn't know at the time that she was with child. Do you understand?" he asked, gently.

"I think so. Mister Y?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry I screamed at you and ran away. You're not horrible, honestly you're not."

Erik chuckled softly. "Don't be sorry. But yes, I'm rather afraid I am. I didn't mean to scare you."

"No, mother taught me to always look at what's on the inside, not what's on the outside. I just wasn't expecting it, that's all. I'm not scared now, I promise. I didn't run away on the pier - well, not the second time."

"No, no you didn't".

"What happened to you?" The question was so innocent, that Erik couldn't refuse to tell him, no matter how much he despised talking about it.

"I was born like this. No rhyme nor reason, it just happened. But my mother thought I was cursed and refused to have anything to do with me. I like to think that God made me this way to remind people not to take their lives for granted, to remind them how lucky they are, but I'm afraid it doesn't quite work like that. Instead, I was shunned, forced to hide in the dark with no one but myself and my music for company, for an awfully long time, until I met your mother at the Paris opera. I'm sorry to say I scared her, too, at first, but then she was able to see past my face, and-"

"-she loved you for your insides?"

Erik laughed. "Yes, yes, exactly that," he said, not bothering to correct him.

"But then…" Gustave trailed off, looking uncertain.

"Go on," Erik encouraged.

"But then, if you let her go, why did you bring her to Coney Island instead of just letting her sing for Mr Hammerstein and leaving her alone?"

"Well, when I read that your mother was coming over to New York to sing, I couldn't help myself. Coming to America has changed me. No longer do I have to hide away in the shadows. I can go out in the daylight and not be reviled. People respect me, now. But, if I'm honest, even if I wasn't all I've become, I would still have gone to her. I just had to see her again. It was like… Have you ever had a pet you loved that died?"

"I had a cat, Sandrine. But she got sick," Gustave replied, sadly.

"And if you had the chance to see her again, would you?"

"Oh, yes, of course!"

"Well, that's what happened when I found out your mother was coming here. Not that I'm comparing her to a pet, of course, but you see my point?"

Gustave nodded. "Yes."

"Are you all right, Gustave?" Raoul asked, tentatively, breaking his silence.

"I think so. Now that I understand, yes. But what do I do now? Do I call you papa, too?" Gustave asked, turning back to Erik.

Erik wanted him to with all his heart, but it wouldn't be fair to push the child, not after everything. Despite his acceptance, he would still need time to get used to it. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to. Of course, that would be marvellous, but I understand what a shock it must be to you, that you'll need to get used to it, and I don't expect you to stop referring to Raoul as your father. He's raised you your whole life, after all. Whatever you feel is best."

"Can I call you both papa, for now, anyway?"

"I think…" Raoul started, but he stopped when Erik looked at him sternly, shoulders drooping.

"If that is what you really want?"

"It is… papa."

Erik wanted to sing with joy. He knew his face had instantly lit up, but despite how he felt about Raoul, he kept himself in check, for the boy's sake more than anything else. As much as it killed him to hear Gustave refer to Raoul in such a way, he couldn't deny him. He was the only father he'd ever known. Until now.

There was a knock at the door, and the nurse walked back in with a plate with a sandwich on and a glass of milk for Gustave "And how are you feeling, little sir?" she asked, cheerfully, placing the plate down in front of him and putting the glass on the cabinet next to the bed.

"A lot better now, thank you nurse Collins."

"You're very welcome," nurse Collins replied with a smile. As she left, Erik jumped up and went after her.

"Please, is there any news at all?"

"I'm sorry, sir, nothing yet. But I'll let you know straight away when I do, I promise."

There was no news, in fact, for another two hours, by which time Gustave and Raoul and fallen asleep, and Erik had taken to pacing again to calm his nerves. He all but jumped when the doctor finally appeared in the doorway. His breath caught in his throat. "Is she…" he began, voice barely a whisper, his stomach churning with fright.

The doctor smiled. "She's alive. She's very sick, but she's alive."


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter :) Again, I've done a bit of research and tried to get everything as accurate as possible. The next update might take a bit longer as I'm going to be fairly busy for a bit, but I'll get it up as soon as possible.**

**Sorry if this chapter feels a bit dull. Going on experience of long waits in hospitals, I wanted to give it that same sort of dragging feel. I just hope it's not too boring! **

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Erik could only describe the atmosphere in the room he stepped into as 'eerie'. The white walls held nothing but a small, wooden cross above the bed and a clock on the opposite side. Even the air seemed to hold a silent tune of desperate uncertainty. Christine, pale and grey, tucked up underneath stiff sheets, looked as though death had already claimed her, and if Erik didn't know better he'd have said that the doctor had played a cruel trick on him. But, as it was, thankfully, Christine was alive. Very sick, still not out of danger, but for the time-being, alive.

Erik's heart ached as he looked at her, and his stomach churned. He lifted one of her cold hands and held it in his, gently rubbing warmth into it. It wasn't right that she should be this way, the colour gone from her cheeks, her light all but distinguished. His beautiful Christine, now just a mere shadow of herself, and all because he'd…

"I'll have her checked every hour," the doctor said, startling Erik back to attention. "If she makes it through the next day, she'll have a good chance. I took the liberty of placing her in a private room; I assumed-"

"-Yes, yes, of course. I'll pay whatever it costs," Erik cut in, not looking at him, eyes solely on Christine. "Thank you, for your efforts. You are to be commended."

"You're entirely welcome. If you need anything, just ask one of the nurses."

Erik heard the doctor leave, the door closing quietly. He sat down heavily in the chair next to Christine's bed and sighed before yawning widely. It was only now that he realised how tired he was. He pressed a tender kiss to Christine's forehead, then leant back in the seat, her hand still clasped in his, his thumb brushing the back of her wrist, and closed his eyes, letting the comfort of her pulse, slow but steady, lull him into sleep.

When Erik awoke a few hours later, the sun was rising, the low, golden light seeping in around the curtains, adding a little cheer to the room. But something wasn't right. Bolting upright, he instantly realised what had disturbed him from his slumber: Christine. Her breathing was quick and shallow, her body restless, and bending closer to her, Erik could see her face glistening with sweat.

"Nurse… NURSE!" he bellowed in panic, before pressing the back of his hand against Christine's forehead. She was burning up. "Christine, Christine…" he urged uselessly, knowing she wouldn't be able to hear him.

The door flew open and a startled nurse ran over to the bed. "How long as she been like this," she asked, checking Christine's pulse.

"I don't know, I've only just woken! What a ridiculous question - you think I'd leave her like this?"

"Sir, please calm down," the nurse begged, backing away slightly. "I didn't mean to upset you."

Erik shook his head, ashamed at himself for scaring her. His head was all over the place. He was lucky he was known enough, by word of mouth at least, especially on Coney, that people didn't run away when his masked face appeared before them. He didn't want to ruin that by getting a reputation for having a short temper and scaring young nurses. He took a deep breath. "Forgive me," he said, slumping back down wearily into his chair. "Please, just help her."

The nurse nodded and continued with her checks, taking Christine's temperature and then peeling the sheets back to check that her stitches were still intact, looking for any signs of infection. When she was satisfied, she covered her back up. "There doesn't seem to be any infection on the outside, but she may have picked up something before she got here, or during surgery. I'm afraid it's just par for the course. But this fever will need to break relatively quickly if she's to recover. The next twenty-four hours will be vital, and if it doesn't break after that… I'm sorry. I'll fetch a bowl of water and a washcloth, and administer an injection of aspirin to help bring her temperature down. Excuse me."

"Nurse?" Erik called as she walked away.

"Yes?"

"Could you please get someone to wake the Vicomte de Chagny and the boy and ask them to bring them here?"

The nurse nodded. "Of course," she replied, starting on her way again.

"Wait - what's your name?"

"It's Anna, sir."

"Anna." Erik managed a small smile. "Thank you."

* * *

"When will she wake up?" Gustave asked, sadly, as he knelt over his mother and gently wiped her brow with the washcloth the nurse had left. "She looks sad, like she doesn't know we're here."

"She knows, Gustave, she's just very poorly," Erik said comfortingly, knowing it was probably of little use. His son wasn't stupid, he was brilliant, just like his father. But Erik felt better for at least trying to reassure the boy.

"It's strange, seeing Christine like this. She's never ill. Forlorn, at times, when she thought no one could see her, but not sick. Even when Gustave was born, afterwards she was bright as a penny. Tired, indeed, but not under-the-weather," Raoul said, as he stood at the end of Christine's bed, worried eyes fixed intently on her.

Erik smiled to himself sadly as he pictured Christine with their newborn son, a tiny, beautiful bundle of hope. What he'd missed…

Raoul cleared his throat. "Listen, could we step outside? I need to speak with you."

Erik raised his eyes to meet the Vicomte's. "Very well. Gustave, we'll just be a moment."

"Yes, papa."

Raoul grimaced slightly at the label Erik now had, at how easily it had fallen from Gustave's lips, but said nothing as he stepped out of the room, the man of his contempt behind him.

"What is it, Vicomte?" Erik asked, his voice laced with impatience.

"I just wanted to tell you that as soon as Christine wakes up, I'll be leaving America. I want to know that she's ok before I do, but I don't want her to see me. I don't think I'll be able to stand her pity."

"You think she'll be in any position to pity you? My my, how self-absorbed you really are."

Raoul seethed. "You _know _I didn't mean it like that. You know what she's like."

Erik smiled a little, but it wasn't in any way directed at the man before him. "Indeed I do. Well, I need you to promise me one last thing before you go."

"Really, and you don't think I've given you enough?"

"Not quite, no. When you get back to France, I want you to arrange for your marriage to Christine to be annulled. I do not want her good name being dragged through the mud by the stigma of divorce. You make out that you knowingly entered into the marriage under false pretences - I don't care how you do it, as long as it works in Christine's favour - and then you send over the papers for her to sign. Once you have received them back, you will then send her a copy of the annulment, along with anything that belongs to her that has value, and the things she holds dear. Is that understood?"

Raoul smirked. "Ha! For what? You expect Christine to marry you? To be seen in public as your _wife_?"

Erik looked around swiftly before grabbing Raoul's arm and spinning him round so he was pressed against the wall.

"What the…!"

"Let me make it a bit clearer for you, dear Vicomte. No matter what happens, you will always love Christine - could you really live with yourself if you ruined her social standing, made her a laughing stock, someone to be gossiped about?"

"For Christ's sake, get off of me!"

Erik shoved him a bit harder. "_Could _you?"

"God - no!"

Erik released his hold on Raoul and stepped back. "Then we have an agreement?"

"Fine. But what about Gustave? If the people outside of your little freak show find out he's really yours, that he was the product of an affair before she went on to marry _me_, what will they think of her then?"

"They will only know of Gustave as my stepson. Indeed it pains me to say so, but it's a small price to pay for having them both permanently in my life."

"You've really thought this through, haven't you?"

"You seem surprised."

"No, no, I'm really not. But, if I'm agreeing to this, then I want one last thing."

"Go on."

"Give me some time alone with Christine, just an hour or so, so I can say my goodbyes. Then I'll go back to the hotel until she wakes, and you inform me."

Erik said nothing, enjoying watching Raoul squirm. But Raoul's patience didn't hold out for long.

"For goodness sake, man!"

Erik regarded him carefully. "Very well. But if her condition changes, you are to fetch me at once." And with that, he turned and headed back into Christine's room, where Gustave was quietly talking to his mother. "Gustave, how would you feel about taking a walk outside with me? There's a florist just across the street, so why don't we see if we can make this room a lot brighter, hmm?"

"Oh, yes, that's a wonderful idea! Mother loves flowers."

"Well, then, we shall fill her room with them. Come." Erik glanced at Raoul as Gustave left the room. "An hour," he said in a low voice, before he swept out.

* * *

Raoul spent his first five minutes alone with Christine in silence, her hand clasped in his. He had so much he wanted to tell her, but it felt odd to be talking out loud to someone who couldn't hear him. Although, thinking about it, maybe it was easier that way.

"My little Lotte," he began, voice barely a whisper…

Raoul ended up pouring his heart out. He let out his disappointment, his regret, his sadness over what they had become. He apologised for his drinking and his gambling, for stifling her career, for getting angry with her whenever she tried her best for him. He told her how hurt he was, how he'd always known she'd never loved him as much as a wife _should_ love her husband. He told her how that killed him inside, knowing that he was second best, knowing now that she would have left him if Erik hadn't left her first. Then he told her he was grateful that she'd still married him, even though she must have been dying inside, for he'd always loved her completely and absolutely. Lastly, he promised to sort himself out, to become a better man, to find someone who loved only him and start again, for he knew that, despite everything, Christine would not want him to be miserable, and maybe, just maybe, he could have the child he could never seem to give her, his own flesh and blood. And then he just sat with her, stroking her hair and cooling her forehead with the cloth, and prayed that she would wake up.

Exactly an hour later, the door to the room opened once more, and he was greeted by the sight of Erik and Gustave, father and son, holding bunches of yellow roses and sweet violets. Gustave's little face was bright, and he looked so proud with what he had brought his mother. It hurt so much that he would have to leave him, but he had to move on, for all their sakes.

"Look, father! Aren't they beautiful? The nurse is going to bring us vases to put them in! Do you think mama will like them?"

Raoul smiled. "I'm sure she will love them. Gustave, give the flowers to Mister Y and come here for a moment, would you?"

"How is she?" Erik enquired, as Gustave did as he was asked.

Raoul knelt down. "The same," he replied, somberly, before focusing his full attention on the boy before him. "Listen, I've got a few things I need to go away and do…"

"Where are you going?" Gustave asked, confused. "Don't you want to be here for when mama wakes up?"

Raoul cupped Gustave's cheek and looked at him regretfully. "Of course I do, but these things I need to go and do, they're _for _your mother."

"But, what kind of things?"

"Things that will make her happy. Now, come here and give me a hug," Raoul said, opening his arms, and Gustave walked into them and held him tight. Tears pricked at Raoul's eyes. "Gustave, never forget that I love you and your mother very much – promise me."

"I promise," Gustave replied. "I love you, too, papa."

"I know you do, dear, sweet boy. Come, now. I'd best get going. Look after your mother for me, won't you?"

"I will."

Raoul smiled and stood up straight. "Good boy." He stepped towards the door, and before he left, whispered an aside to Erik. "Love them, do _everything _for them, and never let them down."

"Of course. It's already done."

"Good." And with a small wave at Gustave, a brave smile on his lips meant only for the boy, Raoul left.

Gustave looked up at Erik sadly. "He's not coming back, is he?"

* * *

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Christine remained feverish and the doctor, Erik could tell, no matter how he worded it, was beginning to give up hope. They sat there now, him and Gustave, talking quietly, making plans for the things they would do as a family when Christine was well, no matter how futile it seemed at that moment in time. Erik didn't want Gustave to give up hope.

They hadn't left the hospital since their trip to the florist. It had been suggested that Erik take the boy home, where they could freshen up and change their clothes, but he had refused to leave Christine's side. If she did die, and he wasn't there, he'd never be able to forgive himself. But it was true both he and his son were exhausted, the snatches of sleep they got at the hospital not doing either of them much good. The nurses brought them food, but Erik could barely bring himself to eat, and had focused instead on making sure Gustave cleared his plate, not wanting him to go hungry.

"Papa?"

"Yes?"

"Can I go to school here? I was home schooled in Paris, so my only friends were the children of the people mother and father knew. If we went out for breakfast, I always used to see the other children on their way to school, and I always wanted to join them. Do you think I could?"

If Erik was honest, he would have preferred Gustave be home schooled as well, to make sure he was getting the best, but he looked so hopeful and so excited by the prospect, that the last thing he wanted was to disappoint his child. "Of course you can," he smiled, "if that is what you really want."

"Oh yes, I do! Thank you!" Gustave threw his arms around his Erik's neck. "Do you think they'll like me? Is my English good enough?"

Erik chuckled. "Yes, it's perfect. You're perfect. You'll fit in just fine."

But as quickly as Gustave's happiness had come, it left again as he turned away from his father to glance at his mother. "How long has it been, now?"

Erik looked at the clock on the wall. "About fifteen hours. It's late – you should try and sleep."

"I don't think I could", Gustave said, instantly betrayed by a yawn.

"I'm sure it would make your mother happy if you did."

Gustave rubbed his eyes. "Oh. Ok."

That wonderful boy – he'd do anything for his mother. Erik rose from his chair and signaled for his son to take his place. Gustave obediently slipped from his perch on Christine's bed and into the seat, snuggling down as Erik picked up his coat and laid it over him.

Another hour passed. Erik stared out of the window and up at the sky, hands in his pockets. The night was beautifully clear, the stars twinkling brightly, and it was hard to believe, at that moment, that anything bad had happened at all. Except it had. Erik sighed and leant his head against the glass, the coolness soothing. He wasn't sure how long he'd stayed like that, but the next thing he knew a small, gentle moaning sound was pulling him away from his thoughts. Assuming Gustave was having a nightmare, he turned to face him, only to see, to his complete and utter joy, Christine trying to open her eyes as she mumbled incoherently. Her fever had broken. Erik was by her side in a heartbeat.

"Christine? Christine, can you hear me? Open your eyes…"

Slowly, Christine responded to his gentle encouragement, her eyes finally opening, blinking against the lamplight, trying to focus on the man leaning over her. She tried to speak, but no sound would come, and she looked distressed.

"It's ok, my darling girl, don't force yourself. I'm here," Erik reassured, kissing her hand.

Christine swallowed. This time, the ghost of a whisper escaped her lips. "Erik…"

* * *

**Thanks for reading! If you got this far, please leave me a little review - they help me to see where I'm going right or wrong. Thank you! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Well, I got this up much quicker than I hoped! This chapter skips forward in time a bit, to move things along. Thank you to the two reviewers of my last chapter :) Thanks to all those who have been reading as well - I've had a lot of hits. Would be nice to know what the rest of you think as well :)**

**We're changing internet providers soon, so my current one will be switched off at some point a week or so before the new one is being set up, so if I don't update for a while, that'll be why, but I'll write as much as I can in the meantime. **

**Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

"Well, Madame de Changy-"

"-Christine, please."

"Of course, Christine. You've been extremely lucky. We nearly lost you. But I think, now, with plenty of rest, you'll make a full recovery."

"Thank you, thank you so much," Christine said, weakly, before pulling a face at the pain in her side.

"That morphine shot will start to work in a minute, but I'm afraid you'll be uncomfortable for some time. Now, would you like to try and eat something, perhaps some soup? You'll need to keep your strength up."

"Yes, soup would be fine."

"Good. I'll get the nurse to bring you some. Excuse me."

When they were alone, Erik perched on the edge of Christine's bed and took her hand. "Should I wake Gustave?"

"No, no, let him sleep. He looks tired. How has he been?"

"Very brave," Erik smiled. "You've raised him wonderfully."

"I… I wanted him to be… like you."

"Like me?" Erik didn't understand - he'd killed, he'd frightened people, and no amount of redemption was ever going to change that. "But-"

"-I know, I know what… you're thinking. But you see… the beauty inside people. And you have a heart. You've proved that. And your music…"

"Shhhh, try not to speak too much. You're too weak."

"Erik?"

Of course she would be disobedient, even when it was for her own good. How he loved her. "Yes?"

"Raoul?"

His heart dropped. "He's gone, my dear. Gustave found him, after you were shot. I had someone send word to him that you'd woken whilst the doctor was examining you. He said he would leave as soon as he knew you were on the road to recovery." He looked down at his hands, then back up at Christine again. "He was here, though, when you were brought in."

Christine looked sad, but then nodded in understanding. "It was good of him… to stay. Thank you."

"What for?"

"For swallowing your pride and letting him," she replied hoarsely, a teasing smile momentarily brightening her face back up.

"Hmm, yes, well. You're welcome. Now, rest your voice," Erik said, returning her smile with a small one of his own. He couldn't help it. Not even a mention of Raoul could dampen his mood for long. Christine was alive, and he was overjoyed.

"Nice to see you awake at last, Madame de Changny." It was Anna, the nurse who had first tended to Christine's fever. She was holding a tray with a bowl of steaming chicken soup.

Christine, with, as always, the patience of a saint, once again said, "Just Christine, please."

Erik nodded at her. "Hello again, Anna."

"Hello, sir," Anna greeted. "Ah, I just need to fetch another chair," she said, placing the tray down on a small table, in front of a lovingly arranged vase of flowers. Gustave's handiwork. "My, aren't these flowers lovely."

"Flowers?" Christine asked. "I didn't see them."

"Anna, why don't you let me help Christine with this."

"Oh, really, it's no trouble."

"Please, I insist."

Anna smiled. "Very well. Christine, would you like me to see if I can find your husband? He was here this morning - did he step out?" she asked, completely innocently and unaware of the sudden awkwardness. Nothing had been said of Erik's presence, despite it not being proper for a man to be left alone with someone else's wife. He'd assumed they'd either thought he was family, a close friend, or knew well enough not to ask. Hopefully, gossip would not follow until he'd had a chance to sort things out.

"Don't worry," Erik said, pleasantly, "someone was sent to inform him."

Anna nodded. If she'd caught on, she didn't let it show. "I'll be back to check on you later," she said to Christine, as she left.

"Well, then, shall we get you sat up?" Erik, very carefully, pulled the sheets back and carefully slid one arm underneath Christine's shoulders, the other going across her front.

"All right?"

"Yes," Christine replied, breathlessly. "Oh!"

"Sorry, I'm sorry, almost there…" Erik quickly propped the pillows behind her, then gently laid her back against them. "Better?"

"Mmm," she hummed, but her eyes were filling.

"Christine…" Erik breathed, catching a tear with the back of his hand. "My love, don't cry. Maybe you need more morphine…"

"No… No, I'll be fine now. It was just the movement."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. Oh… the flowers! They're beautiful," she said, quickly changing the subject so as not to dwell on her pain.

"I'm glad you like them. Gustave helped to pick them out. It was rather dull in here."

"They're perfect, thank you. Well, this is a little bizarre… isn't it? You… spoon feeding me."

"A little, but you're sick, and you know I'd do anything for you." Erik picked up the bowl and spoon. "Ready? If you've had enough, let me know, don't force it all down."

Christine managed half the bowl, then pulled a face and shook her head. "I can't. So tired."

Erik placed the bowl down and helped Christine to lie flat again, biting his lip as her eyes welled again. He hated that he couldn't do more for her, that all he could do was stroke her hair and hold her hand and whisper words of comfort. He had so much to tell her, especially the conversation he and Raoul had had with Gustave, but that would have to wait. Now, she needed to rest.

* * *

"Mother, be careful," Gustave said, anxiously, as Christine stepped delicately into the waiting carriage.

"Don't fret, Gustave, I've got her," Erik soothed, helping Christine to sit.

Two weeks had passed since Christine had almost lost her life, and now she was finally able to leave the hospital, still very sore, but much better, the colour back in her cheeks and her eyes brilliant again.

"You're going to love papa's suite, mama – it's the whole of the top floor of the hotel, and it has its own secret entrance!"

"I'm sure I will. It sounds exquisite," Christine replied, her eyes on Erik, which enticed a smile from him. How she loved to see him smile. She still couldn't believe the change in him, but then a lot can happen in ten years, and being able to join in with the world outside, a world now more excepting (or, at least, a city that was more excepting), had done wonders for him. She didn't doubt for a second that he could still be ruthless if he needed to be – the way he'd first tried to get her to sing for him was a good example. But she knew he truly loved her, knew that he felt overwhelming guilt at having left her behind, when he genuinely thought he'd been doing the right thing by her. He had a good heart, and he adored her. Erik had apologised, quite profusely, for how he had handled himself, for threatening to take her son from her before he knew who he was, and assured her that he'd never actually have done it, that he'd just been desperate, desperate for himself and desperate for her to remember what they'd had. Seeing her again had clouded his mind, and he was so ashamed of his behavior, especially because of what it had led to. And Christine had forgiven him, because she knew, absolutely, that he was telling the truth, and had spent a good amount of him trying to convince him that her getting shot had not been his fault, although she was sure he'd always blame himself for it regardless. They'd discussed so much these past two weeks, and despite still being under-the-weather, she was blissfully happy.

The carriage jolted a little on the uneven road, and Christine sucked in a breath against the twinge in her stomach. She felt a warm hand slide over hers and once again met Erik's gaze, although now he wasn't smiling. His concern overwhelmed her, and she gave his hand a squeeze to let him know she was all right.

"I feel so old," she joked.

"You'll be right as rain in no time, my love."

"Yes, mama, when you're well I'll take you on the fairground rides – we can go on the rollercoaster!"

"Oh, my darling, I don't think my heart could take it! What I saw of it looked rather terrifying."

Erik chuckled. "I assure you, it's perfectly safe. After all, I designed it myself."

"Have you been on it?"

"Goodness me, no."

"Well," Christine laughed, "If I'm to go on it, then so will you."

"Oh, please, papa, do come with us!"

Erik sighed in defeat, but he couldn't resist with the pair of them looking at him like that. It was then he realised he was doomed. Of course he couldn't say no. "Very well. You'll both be the death of me, I can tell."

Christine smiled beautifully at him and hugged his arm.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

Two months later, on a cool, November day, as Christine was getting ready for a trip out into the city with Gustave, Christine's maid, Francine, whom Erik had kept on for her after she'd dutifully stayed behind when Raoul had returned to France, came running into her dressing room, looking slightly panicked.

"Madame, you've just had a call from downstairs - a very big delivery has arrived for you, two carts full!"

"A delivery? But I'm not expecting anything," Christine frowned, as she finished fixing her hat before following Francine through to the lift down to the ground floor. She tried to think – had she ordered anything the last time she'd been in the city? No, and certainly not two carts worth. They left the lift and, through a door that the public had no access to, slipped into the foyer of the hotel.

"Miss Daae?" asked the delivery man as she approached, a beaming smile on his face. "My, I hope you don't mind me saying, ma'am, but you're more beautiful that your photograph suggests."

Christine smiled back, prettily. "Why, that's very kind of you, Mr…?"

"Johnson, ma'am. Harry Johnson. But Harry's just fine."

"Well, then, Harry, perhaps you could tell me where this has all come from?"

"France, ma'am. A bit of a surprise, then?"

"Yes, very much so. May I?" Christine asked, gesturing to the inventory in Harry's hand.

"Oh, of course."

Christine took it from him and read down the list. It didn't tell her what the items were, just how many crates, but she wasn't looking for that. Then she saw it. Sent from the de Changy estate in Paris.

"Ma'am? There's this, too," Harry said, handing her a large envelope. "If you could just sign here, I'll get everything brought up for you."

"Don't worry, there's no need – the staff here will see to it," Christine replied as she signed for the delivery, not wanting to give away the route to Erik's private domain. "Thank you, Harry", she said, handing him back the delivery note.

"You're welcome, ma'am."

As the crates were brought up, under Francine's supervision, Christine went back up to the suite, into her room, and opened the envelope. Inside contained a list of everything that had been sent to her, and then a note from Raoul, which made her gasp as she read it. The remainder of the papers inside the envelope were details of an annulment – _their _annulment. Christine sat, her hands shaking slightly. To save her dignity, Raoul had claimed that he'd drawn her into marriage under false pretences, that he'd offered her things he had never followed through on, that he'd led her to believe he was a man of good standing, when in fact he was a gambling alcoholic. Tears pricked Christine's eyes. Raoul had not been those things when she'd married him. He hadn't gambled, he hadn't drunk that much, and he'd given her everything. And yet, according to this annulment, he'd tricked her, and the church and the court had believed him. She could only be thankful that while people would undoubtedly find out that their marriage was no more, and for all intents and purposes, had never been, the details of what Raoul had admitted to would be kept private. Christine wept. "Oh, Raoul," she whispered. All his note had said, was, "I have finally done something good for you. Be happy, little Lotte."

"Madame? Madame, you're crying!" Francine exclaimed, rushing over to her. "Here," she said, sitting next to Christine and handing her a hanky.

"Thank you, Francine. But I'm fine, honestly. Could you just give me a minute?"

"Of course, madame," Francine said, and obediently took her leave.

Christine took a deep breath to calm herself, and dabbed at her face. She couldn't believe what Raoul had done for her, but at the same time, she could, because she'd always known that no matter how depressed he had become, his soul was still good. That chapter of her life was now closed, and she was both sad and excited all at once. What would happen now? As far as people knew, she and Gustave were guests of Mr Y's whilst her husband was away on business. Some might have deemed it improper, a married woman staying with an unmarried man, but Erik had spun them a tale of how the de Chagnys were planning on staying in America permanently, that the Vicomte had gone back to France to tie things up and had specifically asked him to take care of his family while he was gone, especially as Christine had been so ill. No one had questioned it. But soon, word would reach the press that the marriage was no more, and then tongues would surely start wagging, especially as everyone now knew who Mr Y was. All that time he'd gotten away with keeping his identity hidden, walking around Coney where no one batted an eyelid as, even with a mask on, he wasn't the most unusual person on the Island. He'd revealed his identity for her, lied about his deformity to avoid them digging up his past - _their _past - and finding out who he'd once been, saying he had been just like everyone else until someone had thrown acid in his face, and he'd been left for dead, and they'd felt sorry for him, pitied him. He'd hated it. Her first few weeks home from hospital, it was all the news had talked about. And he'd done it all for her, so he could be seen out with her without questions over who her new friend was.

Christine stood and placed the papers in a draw to show Erik later. She smiled. She'd spent a lot of time worrying about how they would work, having to hide their relationship from the world. Erik had worked too hard to be made an outcast from society again, but they also had Gustave to think about. But now, one last gesture of love, and it had all been made easy for her. She wondered if they would get married. They had a child, after all, and they were in love. If he asked, she would, in a heartbeat. Their relationship had been a little odd, though, since she'd come back from hospital. Erik had done an amazing job of looking after her and Gustave, but he seemed so scared of hurting her that he'd never touched her more than he'd had to, never tried to steal a kiss when they were alone. And how she longed to kiss him. Apart from the odd twinge, she was very much well again, and she wondered just how much longer he would keep her at arm's length, behaving like a perfect gentleman when she longed for him to hold her again. Christine came to a decision. Wiping the last of her tears, she went and fixed her face, found Gustave and told him she'd have to postpone their trip for a couple of hours and that he was to be good for Francine while she was gone, and left for the aerie.

* * *

Christine reached the entrance to the aerie much quicker than she'd expected, but then she'd spent the short walk there lost in a daydream. Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, she composed herself, then made the climb. As beautiful as the aerie was, she didn't much relish having to walk up so many steps, and she stopped a couple of times to catch her breath. She was sure she was flushed, but that was probably the exertion and had nothing at all to do with what she about to do. Except she knew it did. Reaching the top, she knocked on the door, entering quietly and walking up the last small set of stairs when she heard Erik's voice calling for her to come in.

Erik was leaning over the piano, his back to her, looking through some papers. His jacket had been discarded, his shirtsleeves rolled up, his collar loose. Christine's heart skipped a beat. He was handsome, he really was. He was meant to be. The side of his face that wasn't scarred was beautiful. But, to Christine, and indeed now to his son, he was beautiful all over, inside and out.

"Yes?" Erik said, still not looking round and scribbling something down.

"Erik," Christine replied, a hint of nervousness in her voice.

Erik spun round, a surprised smile on his face. "Christine!" Then he frowned. "What's wrong?"

Christine said nothing, instead, leaving all sensible thought behind, she took a breath, marched over to him, grabbed his face in her hands, and kissed him.

Erik didn't respond at first, completely taken by surprise. Then he melted into her for a second before gently pulling away. "Christine…"

"Shhh," she said, putting a finger to his lips, "don't say anything. Just kiss me."

So he did, deeply, passionately, before picking her up and swinging her round. Christine giggled and clung to him, before he quickly put her down and stepped back. "Did I-"

"-No!" Christine interrupted, knowing exactly what he was going to say. Her face was beaming, and she closed the gap he'd just created between them. "No," she said again, gently, hand cupping his face. "I've missed you. I know you've been right here, but…" She sighed.

Erik pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I was just so worried about you. I didn't want to hurt you."

"Oh, my darling, I know. But I'm fine. Even the doctor said so. I know I still have to take things easy for a while, but I'm all right, honestly."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You were doing what you thought best." She kissed him again. "I love you."

Erik grinned widely. "I love you, too."

Christine's eyes sparkled and she took his hand, leading him over to a small sofa. "Come and sit with me – I bring news."


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you to those that reviewed the last chapter - really appreciated :) I didn't realise that I had the reviews set to only allow people who logged in to leave one, so I've now taken that off, so you don't need to log in or leave a name if you don't wish to.**

**I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter. It's a bit of a weird, filler one. Except it's not, because of what happens, but it feels like one. It's not as long as the others, either, but to be honest London is baking at the moment so the heat's just zoning me out! There are adult themes suggested in this chapter, but nothing graphic or anything like that. I don't want to put the rating up, and don't particularly want to write like that, anyway, so don't worry if you don't like reading things like that.**

**I think our internet is going off tomorrow due to switching providers, and our new one isn't being set up until the 11th of June, so there might be a bit of a wait for the next chapter, but please bear with me! **

* * *

"I really have to go…"

"You do?"

"Yes - stop it!" Christine giggled. "I promised I'd take Gustave to that toy shop, FAO Schwarz."

"Ah, well, in that case…" Erik said, stealing another kiss before letting Christine up.

"Indeed," Christine replied, then paused, her already flushed cheeks blushing even brighter. "Erik, I was thinking… Maybe I could spend tonight with you? Francine deserves a day off, and that way she won't catch on if she comes to my room in the morning and finds it empty."

Erik grinned, his eyes twinkling. "Mademoiselle Daae, I hope you're not suggesting anything improper between two unmarried people."

"Of course not, we'd never do anything like that…" Christine smiled back knowingly, pecking his lips.

"Hmm, which reminds me, our son is probably wondering what's taking you so long."

"Is that a yes?"

Erik rested his forehead against hers and looked down at her lovingly. "Yes, if you're sure," he said, his voice gentle.

"I'm sure. I can't bear that at night you're on the other side of the wall, that I can't fall asleep with you."

"Well, we can't have that. Come, now, before I change my mind and forbid you to leave." He led her by the hand to the top of the small staircase which led down to the door. "I'll see you both at dinner, my love," he said, before kissing her hand and letting her go.

Once he'd heard the door close, Erik walked back to the sofa and sat back down. Raoul had made good of his word, and now Christine was free.

Free to marry _him_.

A nervous excitement crept up through him. He wouldn't ask her straight away. He needed time to plan things, to find the right ring, now he was able to actually go out and choose one rather than give her his own. She deserved something beautiful, something magnificent. Maybe he would design it himself. Yes, that's exactly what he would do. And with that, he picked up a pencil and some paper, and started sketching.

* * *

"Mother, look!" Gustave cried, pointing towards where a small puppet show was taking place towards the back of the shop. "May we stay and watch?"

Christine, slightly exhausted by her hyperactive child and the events of the day so far, smiled a little wearily and nodded. "Yes, but not for too long, darling." She couldn't wait to be back on the train, to be back by the sea where the air was clearer and the streets, now Coney was out-of-season, were not packed with people. The city was bustling. She adored it, of course, had fallen in love with it quickly. It wasn't Paris, but she admired how different it was, how different the people were. But now, all she wanted was some peace and quiet.

After ten minutes, Christine went to pay for the toys that Gustave had chosen, and then signalled to him that it was time to leave. "What do you say to a pastry? We can eat them in the small park across the street. I have a few things I need to tell you."

"What things, mother?" Gustave asked.

"Important things," she said, as they stepped out of the shop and crossed over to the bakery.

Christine ordered two eclairs, then led Gustave over to a bench in the park. "Be careful you don't drop any of it down your clothes," she warned, taking a bite of her own eclair and closing her eyes briefly against the welcome sweetness.

"Mama?"

Christine opened her eyes to see Gustave's expectant face. She took a breath. "Gustave, you know…" How was she to refer to Raoul, now? Should she say father? Or refer to him by name? Name, she decided. "You know Raoul sent our things over from France?"

"Yes."

"Well, he also sent me a letter. A very important letter. You see, Raoul and I… We're no longer married."

Gustave looked at her with wide eyes. "You got a divorce?"

"No, no, nothing as bad as that. We got an annulment. If you have proof that the marriage wasn't entered into… If there was dishonesty or…" She sighed. She wasn't doing a very good job of explaining herself. "If, say, someone was tricked into marriage, or one person lied about what the marriage would provide, for instance, it can be declared null and void, and it will be as if it never existed. Now, you know how I told you that no one, apart from those that already do, can know that Erik is your real father?"

Gustave nodded.

"Well, Raoul had to… bend the truth, when applying for the annulment, because otherwise he would have had to apply for a divorce. But, to save my dignity, he lied for us, so I would be free to marry again, something neither of us would be able to do otherwise."

"So… you and papa can get married? People can know you love each other?"

Christine laughed at his enthusiasm. "Yes. But Gustave, he hasn't asked me yet, so you can't say anything about it, and you must not tell anyone what Raoul did, understood?"

"Yes, mama."

Christine knew he wouldn't tell a soul. She knew it was wrong to put all this on a young child, but to save his future, she didn't have a lot of choice, and Gustave was a bright, intelligent boy who already understood more than most his age about how the world worked. He would be fine.

"Good boy. Now, finish your pastry and then we'll get going. I've asked for an extra-special dinner to be prepared for us tonight."

* * *

One thing that Christine loved about living with Erik was that the staff weren't required to hover awkwardly around the dinner table whilst they ate and talked about their day. They brought in each course and promptly left until called for again. Christine had always been more than capable of pouring her own wine and water and helping herself to food, and it was wonderfully freeing. Everyone who worked for Erik seemed to be more relaxed, have more free time, and she preferred it that way.

"This is delicious," Gustave enthused, speeding through his chicken with plum sauce, potatoes and vegetables.

"Gustave, slow down, you'll give yourself a stomach ache," Erik warned.

Gustave slowed a little, then carried on as he had been. Erik chuckled at the look on Christine's face. "Growing boy," he said. "So, Gustave, how did you like the toy shop?"

"Oh, it was wonderful! We watched a puppet show and mama bought me a new puzzle and a Diablo, and then we had pastries."

"And I told him about the annulement," Christine slipped in, before taking a sip of her wine.

"You did?"

"She did," Gustave grinned, before bringing his fork once more to his mouth.

Erik raised his eyebrows at Christine, as if to say 'He's fine with it?'. Christine just smiled at him and went back to her dinner.

Once the meal was over and the last of the dishes had been cleared, Christine sent Gustave off to wash and get ready for bed, then joined Erik out in the living room. He stared at her knowingly as she walked in, and she blushed prettily before sitting beside him.

Erik said nothing as he brushed a strand of loose hair away from Christine's face, but just that light touch set her skin on fire, and the air was suddenly thick with tension. At the feel of his breath on her neck, she suddenly turned her face to his and their lips met instantly, hungrily. Somehow she ended up on his lap, his mouth on her neck, and all too soon she reluctantly, breathlessly, pulled away.

"I need to check on Gustave, get him into bed," she said, and then found his mouth again, that irresistible pull which she very nearly couldn't control, but she had to, for now. "Five minutes."

"Five minutes," Erik agreed, catching his breath as he let her go.

And indeed, five minutes later, Christine entered Erik's bedroom, and they crashed together like waves on a storm-ridden beach, the world, once again, falling away. Except this time, there was moonlight.

* * *

Erik frowned. His left hand felt its way across the other side of the bed, looking for something that clearly wasn't there. Blinking his eyes open confirmed his suspicions. Even though everything that had happened up until that moment should have been more than enough stop him from panicking, he couldn't help himself.

Where was she?

He scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over the sheet that was the only thing protecting his modesty… and then he saw her. And what he saw took his breath away. There, standing out on the balcony, looking out towards the ocean, dressed in his robe, the sun bathing her in a golden glow, loose hair blowing behind her in the gentle breeze, was his Christine. _His._ He smiled stupidly before knotting the sheet around his waist and sneaking up behind her. His arms went about her, and she jumped, a small startled cry escaping her lips. Erik chuckled softly next to her ear as Christine slapped him lazily on the arm.

"You scared me," she chided, her obvious happiness at being wrapped in his embrace betraying her attempt to scold him.

"Sorry, my darling."

"You're not."

"No. You look beautiful."

Christine turned in his arms and kissed him. "Good morning."

Erik smiled. He still couldn't believe the way she looked at him. He was unmasked, baring his soul in front of her, and she didn't even blink. There was no hesitation in her eyes, no fear or disgust, just love. Pure, honest love. "Good morning. You're up early - aren't you cold out here?"

She grinned. "Only a little. And will you think me terribly sentimental if I say it's because I'm too happy?"

"No, I'd think myself terribly lucky. You know, when I woke I thought for one awful moment that you'd run away," he said, slightly ashamed.

"Oh, Erik, you must stop thinking such things. The past is the past. We both did things we regret, but now look at us – look at the future we have."

Erik smiled again and kissed the top of Christine's head. "You're right, as always. Well, then – how about breakfast in bed? I'll order extra for when Gustave wakes."

"That sounds wonderful."

Erik kissed her again, then turned and walked away. As he did, his sheet slipped, and Christine giggled as he quickly pulled it back up. He turned back to her, a mischievous look on his face. "You have my robe."

Christine raised an eyebrow at him. "I do?"

Erik held his hand out. "If you'd be so kind, mademoiselle."

"I'm sorry, monsieur, but I simply couldn't," Christine said, trying to keep a straight face. She'd never done silly things like this with Raoul, but yet with Erik it felt perfectly natural, which was odd, because before last night she could never have imagined it at all. Was it decent? Probably not, but damn decency. It was liberating.

"Oh?" Erik said, stepping towards her.

Christine stepped back, shaking her head. "It would be completely indecent if I did."

Erik sighed. "That may be so, but I'm afraid I simply must insist." He dived forward, but Christine managed to dodge him and ran, laughing, back inside. It didn't take Erik long to catch her.


	6. Chapter 6

**I made some changes to previous chapters yesterday, because I suddenly realised, after listening to the OCR again, that Christine didn't open the season, but closed it. I'm sure I should have known that, and am just putting it down to being hit by an invisible stupid stick. The chapters haven't changed much, so there's no need to re-read them, I just had to move the action from summer to autumn and change a few little summer-related things.**

**Once again, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! Wasn't sure I'd be able to get this up, but, miraculously, my old internet provider is still switched on!**

* * *

The end of November brought with it much more volatile weather. The wind was howling, the sea angry and wild. Rain slammed hard against the windows, and only a fool would want to go out on so awful a day. Erik, however, had an important errand to run which couldn't wait, so he would have to be said fool and venture into the city. He didn't really care, though. He was excited, nervous, and nothing was going to hold him back today, for today was the day he picked up Christine's engagement ring, a beautiful, two carat princess cut diamond, set in platinum and surrounded by smaller diamonds which continued half-way round the band. On the inside he'd had a message engraved. He'd paid a lot of money to have it made quickly, to a company that didn't usually take commissions for rings, but he'd been politely persuasive, and they'd quickly agreed when he mentioned how much he'd give them on top of the cost of the actual ring.

Erik had woken early and left Christine sleeping whilst he snuck out, a note left on his pillow for her. He could have made up any number of reasons as to why he had to go out on today of all days, but he'd decided it was simply easier this way, and she'd know soon enough. He was almost out of the door when a sleepy voice called out to him, and he tensed, only relaxing when his brain cleared enough to realise it was Gustave, and not Christine, who had caught him.

"Papa? Where are you going so early?"

Erik turned to see his son rubbing his eyes and looking a little disorientated, his hair sticking up in all directions. He smiled lovingly at him. "I just have to run an errand. What are you doing up, anyway?"

Gustave looked at him like he was crazy. "I have school."

"And doesn't your mother, or Francine, or myself, usually wake you for school?"

"Yes, I suppose I woke a little earlier than usual. The wind is awfully loud."

"More than a _little_ early, my son."

Gustave frowned. "Why, what time is it?"

Erik pulled out his pocket watch. "Almost seven-thirty. On a Saturday."

There was a long pause, and Erik tried desperately not to laugh at the look on Gustave's face as he processed what his father had just told him. The poor boy was more asleep than awake. Finally, he got it.

"Oh! Oh."

Erik did laugh, now - the only little boy in the world to be disappointed that it wasn't a school day. But then, he _was _an unusual child.

"I thought I was going to get to see my friends today."

Maybe not _that _unusual, after all, Erik thought. And there he'd been thinking that Gustave had been upset about not going in to learn. He shook his head fondly. "Why don't you go on back to bed?"

Gustave yawned. "I'm not tired."

"Yes, you are, especially as you went to bed late."

"I didn't"

Erik grinned. "So you hadn't just quickly jumped back into bed when I came to check on you?"

"No…"

"Well, then, I must have been wrong. I assumed you'd been staring through your telescope again. My mistake." He ruffled Gustave's hair affectionately. "Maybe you'd like to call down for breakfast, then?"

"Oh…" Gustave yawned again. "All right, I was awake. But the sky was so beautiful before the clouds came in and the moon was so bright. Am I in trouble?" he asked, meekly.

Erik laughed again. "Of course not, my brilliant boy. Just don't tell your mother. Now, off you go. I'll be back soon."

"But you haven't told me where you're going."

"If I tell you, do you promise to go back to bed and not tell your mother where I've been?"

Gustave nodded, brightening up a bit at the prospect of his father entrusting him with a secret.

"Very well. I'm going to pick up a present for her."

"What sort of present?"

Erik ruffled his son's hair again. "Wait and see."

* * *

Erik took the train into the city. It still felt very strange to be out like this, when everyone now knew who he was. Some people would still stare a little, mostly out of pity, which he disliked intensely, but they didn't mean any harm, and he supposed he couldn't blame them considering what they thought they knew about him, so he'd simply smile back, which usually worked to bring out smiles of their own. Sometimes people would even talk to him, complete strangers telling him how brave he was, how they admired him. If only they knew. But he tolerated it, because it made for an easy life, for him _and _his family, although he couldn't help but wonder how many would still speak to him if they knew the truth. Maybe one day he'd be able to tell them why he really was the way he was, and have them accept that, because, after all, he was still the same person. If they liked him now, admitting that it was actually a birth defect shouldn't change that, should it? But then, admitting that could mean his past catching up with him, and he couldn't risk that, not now he had Christine and Gustave to think about.

"Good morning, Mr Y."

Erik looked up as an elderly gentleman walked past him on his way up the carriage. He had no idea who he was. "Good morning," he replied, as the gentleman tipped his hat at him before carrying on up the train.

A few stops later, a mother and her young daughter got on and sat the other side of the aisle from him.

"Momma?" the little girl asked, in a loud whisper. "Is that the man with the poorly face who was in that picture in the newspaper?"

The girl's mother, slightly flustered, replied, "Isabelle, what have I told you about talking about people?" clearly knowing it was a weak comeback.

Erik smiled and looked at them. "It's fine, don't worry."

"I'm so sorry," the mother said, red with embarrassment.

"Really, you have nothing to be sorry for."

The woman smiled back at him. But her daughter, interest piqued, slid off her seat and went to sit on the one directly opposite Erik.

"Isabelle, come back here!"

The girl, who was no more than about four-years-old, ignored her, offering Erik a sweet smile instead. He offered one back, slightly unnerved.

"Are you going into the city? I have to go and see my grandma because she's sick. Where are you going? I like your mask."

Erik relaxed a little, despite the speed with which the girl was speaking. "I'm going to pick up a present for someone. I'm sorry to hear about your grandma, I hope she feels better, soon. And, um, thank you."

"Isabelle, I'm sure the gentleman doesn't want to be disturbed…"

"Honestly, madam, I don't mind. She's not bothering me."

Isabelle's mother nodded, but still looked slightly uneasy, not knowing what her daughter would say next.

"Who's it for? Is it for someone you love?"

"Why yes, it is."

"Does she love you, too?"

"Yes, little one, she does. I'm very lucky."

"It's probably because you have a funfair. Momma said you own Phans… Phants…"

"Phantasma."

"Yes, we went there. I didn't want to go home after. I went on some of the rides twice! I think I would love someone who owned a funfair. I could play all day!"

Erik chuckled, but what she said had melted his heart. "Yes, I suppose you could."

"Are you married?"

"Not yet."

"Are you going to be?"

"I very much hope so."

"Are you going to ask her?"

Erik leant forward conspiratorially. "I'll let you in on a secret," he whispered. "I'm actually going to pick up a ring I've had made for her, and I'm going to ask her to marry me tonight."

Isabelle's eyes widened, clearly believing she had just been told the best secret in the world. "I won't tell, I promise!"

"And in return for you being such a good secret-keeper, if you come back to Phantasma next summer and find me, you can go on the rides as many times as you like for free."

The little girl gasped. "Really?" Then she launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck.

Erik, a little stunned, hugged her back tentatively.

"Thank you!"

"I'm sorry, she gets quite over-enthusiastic at times," Isabelle's mother said, looking at her daughter affectionately. "Isabelle!"

"No need to apologise."

Isabelle let go and sat back down. "What's your name?"

"It's Erik. I bet I can guess yours."

Isabelle giggled. "Only because momma said. Momma, tell him yours!"

Erik offered Isabelle's mother his hand, and she took it.

"Sylvia. Pleased to meet you. And thank you for being so kind to my daughter."

"My pleasure. She certainly is a bright young thing."

"Indeed. And I was told that girls were a lot easier to handle than boys. If you ever have a daughter, consider yourself forewarned," Sylvia laughed.

Erik pondered that for a moment. He hadn't even thought about having more children - he was already incredibly lucky to have Gustave, who he already loved deeply and unconditionally. He'd always thought he would remain childless and alone forever. But yes, it was probably a big possibility that he and Christine would have more children. The thought excited him greatly, and this time he wouldn't miss seeing them grow up!

The small group continued talking until it was time to part ways, and very soon Erik found himself standing in front of Tiffany & Co. The storm wasn't as bad here in the city, but it was still a horrible day and he wasn't surprised to see the shop closed. He rang the bell, and a few moments later a young man opened the door. "Mr Y, please, come in."

* * *

"Darling!" Christine exclaimed when Erik finally got back home, looking worse for wear with his soggy coat and dripping hat. "Go and get changed at once before you catch your death!"

Erik found himself being ushered to his room before he could even say a word. "My dear, don't fret so, I'm perfectly all right," he insisted, trying to dodge Christine's hands for fear she would find the little box he had safely stowed in his pocket. "I would love some tea, though, if you wouldn't mind?" he asked, shivering a little.

"Very well, and then you can tell me where you've been," she said, not even remotely as annoyed as she was trying to appear to be.

A short while later, Erik walked back out into the living room, dry, but still a little chilly. Christine smiled as he walked in and gestured to the small coffee table where a perfect, hot cup of tea was waiting for him. He quickly picked up the cup, took a sip, and sighed happily.

"Better?"

"Much," he said, stealing a quick kiss before settling into one of the chairs.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

Christine sighed impatiently, then blushed a little when Erik winked at her. "Stop teasing me. What on earth was so important that you had to go out in this?"

"Ah, well, you see, I can't tell you right now, but I can tonight."

"Tonight? What's tonight?"

"It's a surprise," Erik replied, smiling over the top of his cup at her.

"A surprise?" she said, a little excitedly.

"A surprise. Did you do that?" he asked, upon spotting a half completed puzzle on a board on the floor near the fireplace, and also, thankfully, changing the subject.

"Yes, with Gustave, although he's gone for a nap and it's not even midday. He seems unusually tired today. I do hope he's not sick."

Just my luck, Erik thought, switching the subject from one secret to another. "I'm sure he's fine. He was up when I left. The storm woke him. I sent him back to bed, though, so I wouldn't be surprised if he fell back asleep and then assumed he'd dreamt getting up in the first place."

"Oh,well, that's some comfort, at least," Christine said, clearly relieved. "He doesn't get sick often, but I do worry whenever he seems the slightest bit out-of-sorts."

"And that is what makes you such a wonderful mother. Come, sit with me." Erik held out his hand and Christine took it and let herself be pulled onto his lap.

"Is there _anything_ you can tell me about your morning?"

Erik thought for a moment. "Actually, yes." And he told her about Isabelle, much to her delight.

* * *

So far, everything had gone perfectly. Erik had sent Gustave off with Francine for the evening, he and Christine had enjoyed a cosy dinner, and now they were curled up together in front of the fire, talking about everything and nothing. During a quiet moment, when Erik was idly playing with a strand of Christine's hair, wrapping it around his finger and then releasing it and watching the curl bounce back up before starting again, he thought over the last week. Christine hadn't been able to wait, in the end, for the press to find out about the annulment, worried they would get caught out before anyone knew and people would think they were having some torrid affair behind the Vicomte's back. So, she'd sent them a simple, anonymous letter, informing them of the annulment between the soprano Christine Daae and the Vicomte de Chagny, skipping the details of why and how, and that since then the singer had been comforted by her very good friend, Mr Y. She knew this would set tongues wagging, it was inevitable, but luckily they were wagging in the right way, because instead of spending too long focusing on the fact that a marriage between two well-known people had been declared void (where they had, much to her dismay, only spoken about what awful thing the Vicomte could have done, albeit briefly), they were very enthusiastic over the fact that Phantasma's "Injured, courageous, and distinguished master of magic and thrills" may possibly have found love with the "beautiful and compassionate" world-famous soprano. A couple of days of reporters trying to speak to them had followed, where they'd waited outside the hotel like vultures, until shooed away by those of Erik's staff who had been kept on out-of-season, namely Squelch, whose size made him intimidating enough that they backed off after he'd politely asked that they respect his boss's and Miss Daae's privacy. It was a relief, though, that finally, they could move on, that people could know that something might be going on and not look down on them for it. Neither Erik nor Christine had confirmed the gossip, of course, but it was only a matter of time before they found out about the wedding.

Wedding.

Erik swallowed. He had to ask her first. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves, suddenly aware that he was shaking slightly. He inwardly told himself to get a grip, but it was no good. He shifted a little, his hand moving to his collar. Why was it so hot?

"What's wrong," Christine asked, concerned, looking up at him from where she was leant back against his chest.

Damn. "Nothing, my love, why would you ask?"

Christine looked at him suspiciously. "You've gone tense."

Well, it was now or never. "My darling girl," he said, kissing the top of her head. "Wait here…" And with that he shifted a little to get her to move, and made a hasty beeline towards his study, only glancing back once, quickly, to make sure she wasn't following him. She wasn't, but she did look very confused.

The ring had been safely locked away in the top drawer of his desk, and Erik fumbled a little with the key before retrieving it. Did all men feel like this when they were about to propose? Maybe not the ones who married for status or money, but those who were truly in love, he hoped they had felt the way he did now. He pocketed the ring, housed in its little blue box, and made his way back through to the living room, where Christine was waiting patiently.

"Sorry about that, my love," he said, moving slowly over to her, aware that he probably looked a little like a frightened deer.

"Erik?" Christine made to move, but Erik put a hand out to stop her.

"No, no, stay there." And with that, he took a deep breath, and went to kneel on one knee in front of her, taking her left hand in his.

Christine gasped, her other hand going to her mouth. Erik decided to take that as a good sign, and found the courage to continue.

"Christine, I love you, so much more than I ever thought was possible to love someone. Some days I think my heart will burst just from looking at you. You take my breath away. I'll never be able to express enough just what you mean to me, what you've done _for _me. You taught me to love, to live – you've given me a beautiful son, the most precious gift in the world that I never, ever, dared to dream I'd one day have." He looked deep into Christine's eyes, and saw them filling with tears. "The only thing I need to complete me now is for you to become my wife. My beautiful girl – will you marry me?"

Christine sobbed, and then threw herself at him, knocking him backwards. "Yes! Oh, yes," she cried, covering his face in kisses. Erik caught her lips with his, sitting them both upright as he kissed her.

"Truly?" he asked as he pulled away, not quite bringing himself to believe it.

Gently, Christine removed Erik's mask from his face and cupped his cheek. "Yes," she replied, her cheeks damp, a beaming smile gracing her pretty mouth. "I love you."

Erik couldn't help himself. He laughed in relief, at the happiness that surged through him, and took her into his arms, squeezing her tight.

"I was hoping you would ask," Christine confessed, breath warm against his ear.

"I was hoping you were hoping," he whispered back. He sat back from her, hand reaching into his pocket to pull out the ring box.

Christine's eyes widened when she saw it. "Tiffany's…" she breathed.

"How did you know that?"

"Little blue box, every woman knows that. Oh, Erik…"

He opened it with a smile, and she gasped once more, trying, and failing, to sniff back her tears.

"Oh, my… Oh, darling, it's… it's _exquisite_."

"I got them to make it from my own design," Erik said, taking the ring and Christine's hand, and slipping it onto her finger.

"You designed it?" Christine, awed, held it up in front of her, and it dazzled in the firelight. Then it hit her properly, and she stood, Erik quickly getting to his feet to join her. "We're getting married!" she exclaimed, her hands pressed against her cheeks. "Oh, Erik… Married!"

Erik laughed and picked her up, swinging her round. Then he remembered. "The inside of the ring, I had it engraved," he said, setting her back down. "Take a look."

The inscription read: _Forever, your angel_

Christine looked up at him with such love in that moment, that it left him speechless.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Voice gone, his eyes wet, all Erik could do was kiss her again.

* * *

**Tiffany & Co, making women swoon since the 19th century XD Please review!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you for my lovely reviews! Internet is still hanging on. I don't know how, but at least it means you can have another chapter - enjoy! :)**

* * *

Christine was beyond happy when she awoke the next morning, she really was. But she felt… She wasn't sure how she felt. Odd? Like she couldn't breathe, perhaps, except she could. She turned and looked at Erik, still fast asleep beside her, his face relaxed and peaceful. She smiled down at him, then looked at the ring on her finger. She still couldn't get over how stunning it was, and he'd designed it himself, something so personal and sacred that no one else would ever own. It meant the world to her. But still, she couldn't shake this feeling, whatever it was, and she needed some air. The storm had dissipated during the night and there was a calmness outside now that seemed almost other-worldly.

Slipping quietly out of bed, Christine dressed quickly, forgoing the usual corset - which she'd always hated, anyway - picked up her long, velvet coat, and left the suite. The hotel was still and silent. She remembered how bustling it had been when she'd first arrived, people from all walks of life crowding onto the Island, searching for guilty pleasures that would be deemed inappropriate anywhere else. She'd loved it, but secretly, because Raoul had hated it, had thought it vulgar and lower-class, but to Christine, it had been liberating. People had laughed loudly, they'd screamed in delight, they'd eaten all sorts of strange, cooked food that she'd never seen before whilst walking down the boardwalk rather than sitting at a table, couples had been more bold with their actions, holding hands and kissing with no disapproving glances from being overly affectionate in public. How she'd longed to be a part of it all. But now, there was no one here. Erik's personal staff were in their quarters, probably only just beginning to stir, but there was no one else, no one on the desk in the lobby, no porters, no holiday-makers excitedly waiting to check-in. Of course, it had been that way for the last few months, but today it felt different. _Everything _felt different.

Christine unlocked a side door and stepped out into the chilly air, taking a deep breath as she did. It was refreshing, despite the temperature, and she walked on, heading up to the boardwalk. She didn't expect to see another soul around at this hour, especially not on a Sunday, but it was still a little unnerving, like she was the only person left on Earth. Christine started to make her way over to a bench on the seafront, until her gaze was caught by the pier, and she stopped, thought a moment, then changed direction and walked towards it. She hadn't been on the pier since…

It looked different now, in the half-light of the early morning. Peaceful, almost, like nothing bad could possibly have ever happened there.

Christine hesitated a little before stepping onto it, then pushed forward, what was left of the damp, sea mist swirling around her ankles. She picked a bench about half-way down and sat, staring out at the grey before her, her stomach doing little flips. They'd not really spoken about it much, she and Erik. Meg had been kept in a police cell for two days, much to Christine's horror. No one had thought anyone had heard or noticed, it had been so empty down that part of the beach at that time. Erik had only found out when he'd picked up a newspaper a little while after Christine had awoken in the hospital, and she'd begged him to get Meg out. So Erik had paid her bail (and, it turned out, Madame Giry's, as she'd been arrested for trying to hide a criminal), and then when Christine had been a little stronger, she had given a full report to the police, releasing Meg from any blame, but she never saw her old friend or her mother. They'd gone by the time she'd left hospital, disappeared to the countryside, according to rumours. All that had been left for Christine was a note, which read: '_I'm so sorry_'. And that had been that. Christine didn't hate Meg for what she'd done. She could see how undone she had become, how hard she and her mother had worked, how much she'd sacrificed. What they thought they'd lost. Meg hadn't meant to shoot her, she knew that. Just like Erik hadn't meant to ignore the ones who had slaved for him. Love made you do stupid things. It made you blind. It made you selfish. It made you human, above everything else. It had been a mess, and she'd nearly paid for it with her life, but she didn't blame anyone. Honestly and truly, she did not.

Christine sighed and rubbed her hands over her face. She wished she knew where Meg was. She had so much to tell her, so much she wanted to share. She wanted to help her, help her shine the way she'd always wanted to. She wanted her friend back. Not that she was complaining about spending her days with her son and her now fiancé, but she needed a girlfriend. She wanted to talk to her about the wedding, wanted her help and guidance. She had Francine, of course, but the girl, bless her heart, was so eager to do her job well that she always seemed to look uncomfortable when Christine confided in her too much, believing so much in that divide between them, thinking it wasn't her place to say what she really thought, no matter how much Christine had told her otherwise. But the girl was brilliant with Gustave, was fiercely loyal, and listened even when she didn't feel she could give advice, which Christine was very grateful for. She just needed Meg, now, the friend she'd missed for years, the friend who'd grown up with her, the friend who had known all her silly, childish secrets.

Christine felt something wet on her face, and it took her a few moments to realise it was a tear and not a drop of rain. She sniffed and wiped it away, breathing steadily to get herself under control. She knew, then, why she felt so strange. Her life, her quiet, repetitive life, her broken heart, her constant guilt: Everything, in the blink of an eye, had sped up, had caught up with her so fast it was dizzying. Overwhelming.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed, but she was sure she'd been sitting on the pier a good while before footsteps caught her attention, and she looked round to see Erik approaching her hurriedly, looking anxious. She stood immediately and ran the last few steps to him, throwing herself into his arms.

"Christine! My God, are you all right?"

Christine nodded against him, her face buried in his chest, relaxing as strong arms held fast around her. "I'm sorry," she apologised, looking up at him. "I should have left you a note. I didn't even think…"

"I was so worried – I couldn't find you anywhere. What are you doing out here? And on the pier, of all places."

"I needed to come here. I was…" Christine sighed. "Can we sit?"

Erik nodded, and he sat down, Christine cuddling into his side as his arm went about her. She'd been so preoccupied that only now did she realise how cold she was. She shivered, and Erik held her tighter.

"We should go inside, you're freezing."

"I'm fine, I just needed some air, that's all. I was feeling a little overwhelmed."

"I thought you'd changed your mind. Was I… Was it too quick?"

"No! Oh, darling, no, not at all." Christine sat up a little, one hand against his chest. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I felt so odd when I woke, like I couldn't breathe. But it wasn't because I was having second thoughts, I just realised that everything has happened so fast. A few months ago I was living this… I was simply existing. Raoul was… Gustave was the only thing keeping me going. I was sad and tired and I felt guilty and lonely. I spent all my time trying to make Raoul happy, but nothing ever worked. I had a few friends, but I couldn't connect with them. I'd spent ten years in this constant daze, trying so hard to get through it. Raoul would barely let me sing anymore, my only joy was the gift that you and I had made. He made everything bearable. I did it all for him. And then, all of a sudden, we were across the sea, in this strange, noisy, exciting place, and you were here, from out of nowhere, and my heart…"

"Christine…"

"No, I… Time suddenly sped up. Suddenly, I was singing for you again; you found out about Gustave. I came to life - my soul, my whole being… I was _alive. _I couldn't deny anymore that I still loved you. And then I was shot. I thought I was going to die. And then I didn't, and Raoul was gone, and Meg and Madame Giry were gone, and Gustave and I were with you - were _home_, with you. And then my marriage was annulled, and you, and we… And now _we're_ getting married, and I'm so, so happy, I really, honestly am…"

"Christine-"

"… and it wasn't too quick – I wasn't lying when I said I was hoping you'd ask. It's just…" Christine finally took a breath to steady herself. "It's all been so fast. My life has gone from stale to… to _this_, in such a short space of time. But I don't regret any of it, not at all." She put a hand to Erik's face and stared at him earnestly.

Erik turned his head to kiss it, and then took it in his own hands, rubbing her fingers to warm them. He smiled at her fondly. "I understand," was all he said. It was all he needed to say, and Christine knew that. She smiled back.

"Thank you."

"And, with the wedding, we'll have it whenever you think is best. There's no rush."

Christine reached up and kissed him in reply.

Erik rested his forehead against hers. "Now, how about breakfast?"

"Yes, please. Is Gustave awake?"

"Francine is seeing to him." Erik stood and offered Christine his arm. "Shall we?"

* * *

"Why are we going into the kitchen?"

"Wait and see," Erik replied, pulling her along by the hand. "Good morning, Mary," he said, as he passed the homely-looking cook.

"Sir? Can I help you at all?" Mary asked, clearly confused as to why her boss was all but running through her kitchen. No one could blame her – the whole staff had been quite confused by Erik of late. He wasn't a bad man to work for by any means, but no one had seen him looking quite so happy before.

As for Erik, and the cause of his happiness, they soon reached the other end of the kitchen, stopping by the long table where the staff ate together. Erik pulled out one of the bench seats. "Madame," he said, gesturing to it. Christine laughed lightly and sat down.

"Why, thank you, kind sir."

"I shall be back momentarily". He disappeared round a corner, and all Christine could hear was a lot of banging about, soon followed by Mary fussing around him and trying to take over, followed by him politely shooing her away, followed by, after about fifteen minutes, Erik coming back round with two plates with eggs, tomatoes and toast. "Breakfast, madame, is served. Oh," he said, realising there was no cutlery on the table. He put the plates down and disappeared again. Christine laughed behind her hand, and when Erik came back he was holding a large tray with the cutlery, a small platter of fruit, and, balanced rather precariously near the edge, a pot of tea, two cups and saucers, and a small milk jug and sugar bowl.

"Erik! Be careful with that," Christine exclaimed, grinning as she watched him carefully lower it onto the table. He looked extremely pleased with himself. "You wonderful man. It looks delicious."

"Well, let's hope it tastes delicious, too."

Mary approached the table, then, and, without saying a word, a smile on her lips that was trying its best to stay hidden, she laid down two napkins, and then left again.

Christine giggled again.

Erik sighed. "I knew I'd forget something," he said, humourously, and poured the tea.

"Look at you," Christine said, quietly, as she watched him.

"What do you mean?" Erik looked puzzled.

"I mean _look_ at you. You've changed so much. This is who you were always meant to be. I knew you could do it. I'm so very proud of you."

Erik put the teapot down and held Christine's hand across the table. "It's because you're here, my love. You're here, and you make me a better man. You set me free."

"No," Christine replied, shaking her head. "You did most of it yourself, before I came back."

"I suppose, but I wasn't truly happy until you returned. Yes, I could walk about in the light and build my way up, but it's not worth much if you're not completely happy. You were the one thing that was always missing. But, thank you – I can't say I've ever made anyone proud before."

"Well, now you have." She picked up her tea cup and took a welcome sip. "Perfect. You can cook _and _make tea. Is there anything else you can do?"

"Probably," Erik grinned, picking up his knife and fork, "but if I showed you everything I can do all at once, there wouldn't be any surprises left. Although, I can tell you that I'm taking you and Gustave out for dinner tomorrow night."

"You are? Are you sure? I mean…"

"Perfectly sure. I know the attention won't be very welcome, but I want you and our son to have a normal life. I'll get used to it."

"Erik…"

"Don't fret, dear – my mind is made up. And I thought, at the end of the week, a trip to the theatre; anything you want to see, it's up to you."

Christine smiled. "That sounds wonderful."

* * *

"Mama! Mama! Over here!"

"Oh!"

"No, over here!"

"It's no use, you're both too quick for me."

"Gustave, do you think we should make it a little easier for your mother?"

Gustave laughed merrily. "No! That's cheating!"

"I'm sorry, my dear, I tried."

"I'll get the both of you, just you wait!" Christine spun round, her arms waving about in front of her as she tried to feel for them.

"Ah!" Erik jumped out of the way. "Mind the chair!"

Christine laughed breathlessly. "Oh, do keep still!"

Gustave ran forward and poked his mother in the arm, and she lunged for him. As the boy tried to escape, however, he tripped over the edge of the rug, and Christine was able to grab him before he could right himself and run to safety.

"Got you!"

"Oh, not fair!" Gustave complained, although he was still giggling quite madly.

"Sorry, darling, you're out, I'm afraid. Now, where's your father? I can't hear him…"

Erik turned to Gustave with a mischievous grin and put a finger to his lips. Gustave grinned back.

"He's over there, mother."

"Oh, that's very funny." Christine walked carefully forward, feeling her way across the room. "Erik?"

Gustave snickered behind his hands.

Erik stayed completely still. Watching gleefully as Christine tried to find him. She was getting closer…

"Erik! Say something!" she laughed, a little nervously, worried he was about to pounce on her and give her a fright.

Unfortunately for Erik, that was the moment his body decided to betray him, and he sneezed, completely unexpectedly and with no time to stifle it. Christine leapt across to her left, but as she did, she caught her foot on the leg of the chair and fell forward, crashing into her fiancé, who toppled backwards. He landed with an "Oooof!", Christine knocking the breath out of him as she fell against his chest. Both in hysterics, neither one of them could move, and Christine buried her head in Erik's shoulder, trying desperately to catch her breath and speak.

So distracted were they, that they didn't hear the knock at the door.

Erik gathered enough strength to steal a quick kiss from his beloved before pulling the scarf away from her eyes with one hand. Christine blinked to clear her vision.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I thought you were someone else," she teased.

"Hmmm, very funny," Erik said, then, in a whisper, "As much as I would very much love to keep you down here, we'd best get up."

Christine slapped his arm playfully and let him sit them both up. She brushed her hair out of her face, still trying to calm her breathing.

"Mother! Father!"

"Gustave?" Christine asked as he ran back into the room, unaware that he'd left it in the first place. "What's wrong?" She stood, brushing down her dress, but she'd barely taken a step towards him before two people appeared behind him. Gustave ran to her, standing between her and Erik, who placed a supportive hand on his frightened son's shoulder. Gustave clutched hold of his mother's skirt. Christine opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Even Erik didn't know what to say.

In front of them, looking awkward and guilty, was none other than Meg and Madame Giry.


	8. Chapter 8

**Quick update! Had nothing else to do today, internet _still _on, so here it is!**

* * *

"Mama…"

"It's all right, Gustave."

"Papa, don't let her hurt mama again…"

"Gustave…"

Christine turned her head towards the slightly ajar door behind them. "Francine!"

Seconds later the maid hurried in, stopping short when she saw the Girys'. "Oh!" she exclaimed, before she could stop herself.

"Francine, please, take Gustave back with you to your quarters. Get him something to eat."

"No, mama, I want to stay with you!"

"My darling," she said, soothingly, as she bent forward, her hand cupping his cheek, "don't worry yourself. Nothing will happen."

Gustave looked uncertain, and he glared at the two women in front of him, both of whom averted their gaze.

"Gustave," Erik said, gently turning him to face him as he knelt down to his level. "I'll look after her, I promise. You don't need to be afraid."

The boy hung his head a little, but he trusted his father to take care of his mother, so he nodded and allowed Francine to take his hand and lead him away.

Once they had gone, Erik turned on the two women. "How _dare _you. How dare you show up here unannounced and frighten our son like that!" He moved forward, but Christine grabbed his arm and stopped him, looking up at him with eyes that begged him not to lose his temper.

"Darling…" she whispered, although it didn't go unheard. Erik relented.

"So, it is true, then. You left Raoul and you stayed."

Christine took hold of Erik's hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "Yes."

Madame Giry glanced down at their hands briefly. She nodded. "I'm happy for you."

Erik barked a disbelieving laugh. "Really?"

"Yes, I am not a monster, Erik. None of what happened was meant to happen, believe me. And my poor Meg, she's been so traumatised…"

Meg, who had so far said nothing and was staring at the floor, shifted uncomfortably. She was so pale, now. So meek and withdrawn. Christine's heart gave a tug, and she stepped towards her, only to have Meg move away behind her mother with tears in her eyes.

"I can't," she breathed.

"Meg, please - I don't blame you."

"Please don't," Meg begged.

Christine nodded sadly and stepped back. "All right."

Erik eyed Madame Giry suspiciously. "Why are you here? What did you come back for?"

"We…" Giry stalled, looking uncertain. "May we sit?"

Erik waved a hand lazily towards one of the sofas, he and Christine taking the opposite one. He waited until they were settled, Meg still refusing to make eye-contact with any of them, then pressed them again. "Now, then…"

Giry looked down at her hands. She was clearly ashamed, clearly tired and desperate. "Please know, that coming to you was our absolute last resort."

"Mother," Meg suddenly sobbed, taking hold of her arm. "I don't want to do this, I want to go, _please. _This was a mistake…"

"Meg, we _have_ to…"

"Meg, what is it?" Christine asked, leaning forward in her seat. "Please, don't cry."

"We're broke!" Giry suddenly blurted. "We have no money left."

Erik looked at her incredulously. "You want _money?"_

"We had no one else to ask!" she cried. "No one in the city will talk to us. What we had is gone. We were able to find work for a while, but when our employer found out who we were, he fired us. It didn't matter that we had had our charges dropped. He said that Meg was a liability, that it could ruin his reputation!"

"And what do you expect _me_ to do? You both gave up your right to anything from me when you betrayed me with your jealousy. Your daughter threatened my son and nearly killed Christine! And I know, I _know _I shouldn't have ignored you, but I still meant to give you your due. But now, after everything, do you _really _still expect me to help you? I paid your bail, and you ran, slid away like a pair of snakes. You got off because Christine stood up for you, told the police you weren't to blame, and you repaid her kind heart by disappearing!"

"You really think we wanted to stay, after what happened? We thought it best that we left, that you'd want us to!"

"But you could have come to us first, even if it was just to see Christine, to visit her in the hospital and make sure she was all right! You could have shown some remorse, and maybe then I would have helped you. It was coming, you know - what you were owed was coming. Once the books had been balanced at the end of the season you were going to be rewarded handsomely."

Madame Giry stood, her face screwing up in anger. "It wasn't just money we were due, though, was it? We helped you to build this place - part of it should be ours!"

"That was never the deal!" Erik spat as he stood also, furious and unforgiving. "I never said you would own any part of it, but I did say that you would always be provided for - I gave you a more-than-decent weekly wage and promised that you would soon get a substantial lump sum. You got it into your head that this place would be yours - it's not _my _fault that you were overcome by greed!"

"And it's not _our _fault that you were so blinded by love that you pushed all our efforts to one side!"

"ENOUGH!"

Both Erik and Madame Giry turned towards the voice that had interrupted them, and were met by Christine's tearful face now standing before them. In the quiet, Meg's sobs, from where she was curled up on the sofa, were amplified.

"You are both as bad as each other!" Christine proclaimed angrily, before moving over to Meg and kneeling beside her. She slowly reached a hand out to the distraught young woman, but Meg still shied away from her. "Meg, please…" However, Christine wasn't going to give in, and she pulled Meg into her arms. Meg fought against her, as was expected, but, as was also expected, she was so exhausted that her struggling didn't last long, and she deflated, her head falling against Christine's shoulder as she cried.

"Christine…"

"I know, Meg, I know - it's all right, shhhh."

Erik breathed in deeply. What a mess. He sat down, Giry following suit, and they just watched as Christine rocked her old friend in her arms like a child, and no one said a word until both she and Meg had calmed.

"There, now," Christine finally said, pulling away from Meg to get a better look at her.

"How… How could you ever forgive me? I nearly _killed _you."

"Because your mind was not sound, my darling girl. And your hand, it slipped - it was an accident."

"But I held a gun to you…"

"A gun you never had any intention of using, am I right?"

Meg nodded. "I would never have intentionally hurt you. And Gustave, I never meant-"

"- I know. In truth, I _am_ angry that my son had to go through that, that you frightened him so, my little boy. You wouldn't have hurt him, though. I knew that, when you held that gun to your head. I know that's what you would rather have done, because either way, you wouldn't have won. You would never have put your life before Gustave's."

"I'm so sorry," Meg sobbed again.

Christine wiped the tears from her face. "I know."

Meg sniffed, and calmed a little. "Do you really love him?" she whispered.

Christine smiled. "I really do. You know, I thought of you only this morning."

"You did?"

"Yes. I was sitting on the pier - I'd not been there since… Well. And I realised that I missed you, I missed our friendship. There's been so much I've wanted to share with you over the years - no other friend has ever come close to you."

For the first time in a long time, Meg smiled. "I've missed you, too."

"There, look how pretty you are when you smile."

"Pretty?"

"Hmmm, no, not pretty - beautiful. You always have been, Meg, and don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise. You're right not to want to expect second-best."

"Oh, Christine…" Meg hugged her again, and when she pulled away she was still smiling. Christine stroked her friend's hair.

"Now, then," she said, turning to Erik and Madame Giry, who had been sitting in absolute silence and looked more than a little shame-faced. "Can we discuss this sensibly, like adults, and come to an arrangement?"

* * *

It was settled. Erik, with a little coaxing from his fiancée, agreed to pay the Girys what he had originally intended, and promised them work when summer came. However, he would not let them stay in the staff quarters in the hotel - his feelings aside, he didn't want a riot to break out. Everyone needed time to get used to having them around again. So, he found them accommodation up in Brooklyn, and ordered his carriage round to take them there.

Meg was just about to step in when she finally noticed the ring on Christine's finger. "How have I only just noticed…"

"Hmmm?"

"Christine, that ring… That's not the one Raoul gave you."

Christine smiled despite herself. "No, it isn't. Our marriage has been annulled."

"Annulled? But, how? But that means… Is that…"

"Is that my new engagement ring? Yes."

"Christine!" Meg hugged her. "I'm so happy for you! But, I don't understand…"

"I'll explain everything tomorrow. We have a lot of catching up to do."

"Yes, yes we do. Oh, it _is _beautiful."

"Isn't it?" Christine smiled widely. "Come on, in you get - you need to rest."

Meg obeyed and climbed into the carriage, followed by Madame Giry, who had been standing behind Christine next to Erik.

"Congratulations," she said, sincerely, before joining her daughter.

As the carriage trundled off, Erik placed a hand hesitantly on Christine's shoulder. She sighed.

"I'm sorry, my love. I didn't mean to get so angry," he said, regretfully, unhappy that he had upset Christine. "I nearly lost you, for good - it's harder for me to forgive. I haven't even forgiven myself. But I _am _sorry for before. I didn't mean to make you cry - I hate it when you do."

Christine turned, then, and wrapped her arms around him. He returned the embrace gratefully.

"_You_ didn't make me cry, the situation did. But you're forgiven," she replied, voice muffled by his frock coat. "For today, anyway - not the accident, because I've never blamed you for that." She looked up at him, face unreadable for a moment, and then she smiled.

"What?"

"Gustave has that same face when he's feeling guilty after being told off for something he shouldn't have done."

"I look like him?"

"Yes, of course, and he's very much like you, especially when he's sulking," she teased.

Erik opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "I don't _sulk_."

"Yes, darling, you do. Granted, not for a while, but you do." And before Erik could protest any further, Christine stood on her tip-toes and pressed her lips to his.

Erik brought a hand to her face and kissed her back fully, his other one holding her close. When they finally parted for air, he shook his head at her. "I've completely forgotten what we were talking about."

"That was the plan."

Erik grinned. "Sorceress."

"Perhaps," she said, amused. Then her face softened. "We should go and fetch Gustave. Our poor boy. What do we tell him? He'll be terribly upset that they're coming back. I don't know how to make him understand."

"Of course you do."

"How do you know? I have no idea."

"Because you're his mother, and if you set out to make him feel better, to calm his anxieties, then you will."

"You really think so?"

"I'd never doubt it."

Christine still didn't look convinced.

"Look, we'll do it together." He lifted her hand up to his lips and kissed it. "He'll be fine. He's smart, just like his father."

"Oh, well then," Christine replied with a laugh.

"That's better. Come on, it's starting to rain again."

* * *

"Do you understand, darling?"

Gustave frowned. "No."

Christine sighed.

"Gustave, sometimes people who aren't bad people do awful things without meaning to. Meg was very upset and very confused, and because she was confused she didn't quite know what she was doing. It was a moment of madness. When it came to it, in the end, she never would have hurt you, and that gun, it was never meant to go off. It went off by accident," Erik tried to explain, as best he could.

"But mama," Gustave said, turning back to Christine, his eyes damp with tears, "you nearly _died_…"

Christine pulled her son into her arms. "I know, but I didn't, and I'm here and we're all safe, and nothing bad will happen again, I promise."

"You can't promise nothing bad will ever happen - no one knows."

"Can I promise I will do my best to make sure it doesn't?"

Gustave nodded. "Yes."

"Then that is what I promise. I know you're too young to understand properly, but there's a difference between meaning to hurt someone and doing it by accident. Now, she frightened you, and that still makes me very upset, but I'm willing to forgive her, because she doesn't have a cruel heart, she was just terribly, terribly sad and she wasn't in her right mind. Now, I'm not expecting you to be friends with her or Madame Giry, but I do expect you to be polite if you see them."

"Will I _have _to see them."

"No, I would never make you, but you're bound to bump into them at some point, and that I have no control over, my dear."

Gustave was quiet for a moment while he thought things through. Then, eventually, he squeezed Christine tight, and said, "I'll do as you ask, mother."

Christine ran her fingers through his hair. "Good boy. I'm so very proud of you, and don't you ever forget that. I love you very much."

"I love you, too, mama, and papa as well. I wouldn't want anything to ever happen to either of you." Gustave turned to hug his father, then yawned.

"Time for bed, I think, young man," Erik said, kissing the top of his boy's head.

"Will you come and read to me for a while, papa?"

"Of course. Go and get ready and I'll be in shortly."

Gustave did as he was told, but not before giving his mother one last hug. When he'd gone, both Erik and Christine slouched wearily into the sofa. Christine reached for Erik's hand, and their fingers entwined loosely.

"That was exhausting."

"Yes, but we did it, and he'll be fine."

"I hope so." It was Christine's turn to yawn.

Erik smirked. "If you get ready for bed, I'll come and read to you, too."

Christine batted at him with her hand. "I'm sure I'll be fast asleep by the time you've finished with Gustave."

"I should hope so - you've been up since the crack of dawn. Come on," he said, standing and offering his hand. She took it and he pulled her up.

"Oh, my limbs feel so heavy."

"Then an early night can only be a good thing." He placed a kiss on her forehead. "Go on, I'll be in soon."

* * *

**Please review! :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry I've taken a while to update - been fairly busy and I also found this chapter quite hard to write. It's funny how some come to me so easily and others are just stubborn! **

**Anyway, hope you like it, and thank you to my reviewers :)**

* * *

Erik was unnerved. For the past couple of weeks, everyone around him had been acting a little… odd. Christine, Gustave, his employees - everyone. It wasn't that they seemed upset with him, or angry or annoyed - on the contrary, everyone had been bright, happy, and polite. But something was going on, he just knew it. Whatever was happening, they weren't doing a very good job of hiding the fact that it was _something_.

"Good morning, darling," Christine trilled as she entered the dining room, bending down to kiss his cheek as she passed him. She stared out of the window and sighed happily. "Isn't it a _lovely_ day?"

Indeed, it was. The first snow had fallen during the night, earlier than usual, and everything was brilliant white and clean. The sun was out today, shining cheerfully in a sky of cornflower blue. It was bitterly cold outside, but it was beautiful.

Erik frowned as he looked at his fiancée, who was currently captivated by a robin sitting on the ledge on the other side of the window, his little red chest puffed out proudly. Christine was dressed for the city, in a beautifully embroidered navy dress with matching coat, hat, gloves and scarf. She looked stunning, as always, but he hadn't been aware that she was going out today. "Are you going to have breakfast before you disappear?"

Christine turned around and smiled at him. "I took breakfast in my room. I'm sorry, I thought I told you I'd be going into the city today?"

"No, but it doesn't matter. Would you like me to accompany you?"

"No!" she replied, a bit too quickly, before catching herself. "It's the day before Christmas Eve, and I have a few things I need to… _attend _to. I need to leave for a fitting appointment, so I can't really wait for you - I'm sorry, my love. I shan't be gone all day, just a few hours."

"…Right."

"See, I said when you sulked you looked like Gustave," Christine smiled, trying not to laugh.

"I'm no-"

Christine cut him off with a kiss, and then laughed when she heard an 'Urgh!' from across the room. "Good morning, Gustave."

"Good morning mama, papa," Gustave replied sleepily, sliding into a seat at the table. "Do you _have _to always do that?"

Erik chuckled. "One day you'll be embarrassing your children in the same way."

"I will not."

"Hmmm, we shall see. And as for you…" Erik turned to Christine and attempted to stare at her sternly.

Christine just patted his cheek and smiled sweetly at him. "You'll always fall for it, my angel" she said, before sweeping out of the room.

Erik grumbled to himself. Yes, yes he would, because he would never, ever be able to resist her, not even when they were old and grey and falling apart. He looked up, then, right at Gustave's grinning face. "What?"

Gustave's face didn't break. "Nothing."

Erik cleared his throat. "Gustave – what's going on?"

"What do you mean, father?" his son replied, grin turning to the look of an innocent angel in less than half a second.

"You know exactly what I mean, young man."

Gustave shrugged and helped himself to breakfast. "Mother is just doing some last minute Christmas shopping, I expect. She's always liked to do things like that herself instead picking from catalogues and sending other people. Raoul always thought she was mad and tried to get her to send the staff, but she loves Christmas."

"Oh. She loves Christmas?"

Gustave put his fork down and looked at his father like he'd gone insane. "_Everyone _loves Christmas."

"Oh."

"Father…" Gustave eyed him suspiciously. "You _have _got mama a present, haven't you?"

"Well, yes, I have – I have one for both of you. I just assumed there wouldn't be a huge fuss on the day itself. I…" Erik sighed. "Truth be told, I've never celebrated Christmas before," he admitted, head bowed.

His son looked at him sadly, then slid off his chair and walked over to his father. "_Never_?"

"No, never. I had nothing to celebrate," he said, quietly, staring down at the tablecloth.

Gustave put a hand on his arm. "You do now. You have a family."

Erik looked up at him, his eyes a little wet. "Yes, you're right – I have a _family_." He smiled widely, and then drew Gustave into a hug. "You wonderful boy."

"It will be so much fun, papa, you'll see. Papa?"

"Yes?"

"After breakfast, will you come outside with me and help me build a snowman?"

"A snowman?"

"Yes. I have an old scarf that was sent over with the rest of my things, and we can find some coal and a carrot for the face." Gustave looked at him eagerly.

Erik smiled. "All right, then. My first snowman, as well."

* * *

Just before lunch, Christine arrived back home, rosy-cheeked from the cold and looking pleased with herself. Shivering a little, she rang down for some tea, and then went to hang up her coat and change her clothes. The bottom of her dress was damp and her feet were cold in her boots. "Oh, if it isn't my two favourite boys," she smiled as she passed through the living room. Erik and Gustave were sat by the fire, warming themselves.

"We've been building a snowman," Erik said, a little too excitedly for a grown man.

"Did you see it, mama?"

"That was you two, was it? I must say, it's a very fine snowman indeed."

"It was papa's first one."

"It was?" Christine said, looking at Erik, who beamed at her, and then stood to greet his fiancée.

"It was. And what fun!" Erik said, before giving her a quick kiss. "Goodness, you're as cold as ice. Come sit by the fire."

"I will, just let me change first and I'll be right with you. Did you want tea? I just called down but I could have them bring extra."

"No need, my love. I have coffee and Gustave has just finished a hot chocolate."

Christine sighed. "Ooh, hot chocolate – I never thought of that."

Erik kissed the tip of her nose, making her smile. "Well, then, I'll go and sort that out for you – excuse me."

Christine watched him go, and then carried on her way, Gustave following behind.

"Mama?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Did you do it?"

Christine stopped and smiled down at him. "I did."

Gustave looked as though he were about to explode with excitement. "He's getting suspicious. I told him you'd probably gone Christmas shopping – I think he believed me. Mama, did you know he's never had a Christmas before?"

Christine ushered him along the hall and into her room before answering. She sat, patting the seat beside her for Gustave to join her. "I assumed he hadn't," she said, sadly. "But, everything is organised, and we're all going to have the most wonderful day."

"Papa said he'd had no reason to celebrate, but he did brighten up when I told him he had us, now. Plus, he did say he'd bought presents for us, he just didn't think we'd be doing much."

"Ah. Oh, I wish he'd said something – I suppose he was just worried about it. It must be strange to celebrate something that you've never had a chance to before. But presents? He really is trying. I'm so very glad you two had so much fun whilst I was gone." Christine pulled Gustave against her. "All the years that have passed – he's so very different, now, but he's also exactly the same. This was always there, inside of him – he just needed a chance to let it out. But I loved him then, and I love him, now. I just wish he'd known you sooner." She smiled. "So, he's getting suspicious?"

Gustave wrapped his arms around his mother's waist. "Yes, but we'll just have to carry on making him think it's for Christmas."

"Well, that gives us a couple of days to relax, anyway. We'll deal with the next week as it comes."

"_Christine?"_

"Oh! Gustave, I'm supposed to be changing – will you tell your father I'll be out in a moment?"

"Yes, mother." Gustave hopped off the seat and ran out of the room, Christine smiling at his retreating form.

* * *

Christmas Eve came with much excitement. The staff bustled around making last minute preparations, Christine helping as much as she could. Decorations were hung, presents were wrapped and then, finally, that evening, came the tree.

Of course, Erik had seen a Christmas tree before, but he'd never had one of his own, never had a box sitting in front of him full of little ornaments and candles to hang on busy green branches. Next to him, Gustave bounced with anticipation, and Erik thought his son might burst. But he was just as excited, really. When Christine had mentioned to him the day before that she knew he was feeling a little anxious about the whole thing, despite her kindness, he couldn't help but feel guilty that he hadn't put that much thought into the day itself. Gustave had been right – he had a _family_! How could he not have known, automatically, that Christmas would be celebrated to its absolute fullest? That he could finally join in with something he'd only ever looked in on longingly, standing on the outside as families laughed and ate and sang songs and exchanged gifts. Well, now he did know, and it started by decorating this beautiful tree that smelt of clean, forest air.

"Mother, hurry up!" Gustave called, impatient to get started.

Erik looked down at him, about to lightly scald him for shouting at his mother like that, then changed his mind, smiling as he joined in. The boy was only excited, after all. "Christine!"

"All right, all right!" Christine said with a small laugh as she entered the living room. She walked over to Erik and cupped his face with one hand, thumb running over his cheek. "Ready for your very first Christmas?" she asked.

Erik smiled. "Very much so."

They decorated the tree lavishly – glass angels, gilded walnuts, red bows and gold stars were tied neatly to branches, along with little cardboard animals, shiny horse and carriages and, at the very end, small candle holders were clipped on to hold the candles safely in place. Christine and Erik went round lighting them, and then they all stood back and admired their handiwork. Gustave ran over to turn the lights off, and the tree glowed beautifully.

"Oh, it's lovely," Christine breathed, hugging Erik's arm.

"Indeed, it's quite magical."

What followed was something Erik still couldn't quite believe even as he slipped into bed later that night. A grand dinner, followed by games, carols around the piano and, to finish off the evening, ghost stories by the fire, some of which had spooked even him. He'd never experienced anything like it, and he felt warm, full, and deliriously happy. Who would have thought, not even half-a-year ago, that this would be his life, now? That he would be experiencing such joy after such long despair. He turned to the warm body next to him.

"Christine?"

Christine, already half asleep, exhaled gently. "Hmmm?"

"Thank you."

She cracked an eye open, a soft smile on her lips. "You're welcome. You've still got tomorrow to go, yet – Christmas day will be even better."

Erik grinned. "I don't believe that's possible." He put his arm around Christine as she cuddled into his side.

"Just wait and see," she said, through a yawn.

* * *

"You didn't have to come, you know."

"I know, but it's part of your Christmas day tradition, so now it is part of mine. Furthermore, how would it have looked if I hadn't joined you?"

"You just looked so uncomfortable."

"Darling girl," Erik said, stopping them in their tracks as they rounded the corner and the small church went out of sight. He kissed Christine's gloved hand. "I would not have sat at home waiting for you anymore than I would have stopped you from going. And I was fine – yes, it was a little strange, but everyone was polite, no one stared too much, and I didn't burst into flames," he ended, his smile showing he was joking.

Christine slapped his arm, but laughed anyway. "I suppose I should start going every Sunday, again. It's been a while," she said, as they continued walking.

"I'll accompany you, then."

"You will?"

"Of course." Erik looked to where Gustave had run ahead, and saw him standing staring at a group of children who were playing in the snow, looking unusually sad. "Considering it's Christmas day, our son doesn't look too happy."

Christine frowned. "But he was fine just now – Gustave!"

It took a moment for Gustave to turn round and face his mother, and, when he did, stayed where he was until his parents caught up with him.

"Darling, what's the matter?" Christine asked, bending down to his height.

Gustave shook his head. "Nothing, mother." He brightened, suddenly, then, and picked up a handful of snow, throwing it at his mother, still, even now, avoiding her stomach. He giggled and ran, and Christine quickly scooped up some snow and went after him, but missed as he ducked behind a tree. "Missed me!" But this time, when he ran again, Christine got him right in the back.

"Got you!" She laughed. "Ahh!" Christine turned and found Erik laughing after hitting her in the shoulder. She narrowed her eyes at him, bending down to scoop up more snow, all the while looking at him predatorily.

Erik backed up, his hands in front of him. "Now, Christine… Oof!"

The snowball fight lasted a good five minutes before they finally stopped for breath.

"That was… an experience," Erik said, wiping clumps of snow from his coat.

"But wasn't it fun, father?" Gustave exclaimed, his face, like his mother's, pink from the cold and absolutely joyous.

Erik grinned. "Indeed it was. Home now, I think, to warm up."

"Race you!" And off Gustave went, at full pelt.

Christine cringed. "Gustave, be careful you don't slip!"

* * *

"Could I have some more pudding, please?"

"My dear, you'll make yourself sick if you eat anymore."

"But mama, it's Christmas!"

Christine looked to Erik, firstly for help, and then sighed. "Ask your papa."

Gustave grinned. Erik didn't say anything, he just picked up a knife and cut his son another slice of plum pudding.

Christine shook her head. "Well, I for one could not eat another morsel. I don't know where you put it all."

"Growing boy, darling."

"Yes, well, if he's a sick boy, guess who will be dealing with him?"

Erik chuckled. "Fair's fair. Gustave," he said, looking at his son with mock sternness. "I forbid you to be sick."

"Yes, papa," Gustave replied, between mouthfuls.

"Well, don't be too long finishing – the staff will want to clear the table as quickly as possible so they can enjoy the rest of the day and tomorrow to themselves. I don't want to keep them waiting, they work so hard." Christine said, looking guilty. She'd never been comfortable with people waiting on her, but at least Erik was quite relaxed with his staff. Raoul had had them at his beck and call, even in the middle of the night, when there was no great emergency. She was grateful for them, of course, and always showed them the utmost kindness.

"Done!" Gustave cried, startling Christine from her thoughts.

"Good boy. Now, go and get cleaned up and then we can open presents."

Quick as a flash, Gustave leapt from his chair and exited the room. Christine shook her head fondly and looked at her fiancé. "So, what do you think so far?"

"Of Christmas?" Erik leaned in for a quick kiss. "It's perfect. Everything I ever hoped it would be – more so, in fact."

"I'm so glad. I wanted it to be special for you."

"And it is, truly. Now, did you say something about presents?"

* * *

"All right, we'll each take turns – agreed?"

"Agreed," Erik nodded at Christine.

"Right. Wait here a second," Christine instructed. She disappeared for a moment, and when she came back, hovered in the doorway. "Gustave, darling, close your eyes."

Gustave did so, and when his mother told him to open them, he gasped in delight. "A bicycle! Oh, mama!" His smile was so wide, Erik thought his face would split. "It's beautiful," Gustave breathed, running his hand along the frame. "Thank you," he said, giving his mother a great big hug. "May I try it out, later?"

"Not in the snow, my love. But maybe your father wouldn't object to you riding along some of the corridors on the lower floors, as the hotel is empty, after all," Christine replied, smiling prettily at Erik.

Erik smiled back. "I'm sure that would be fine."

"Oh, thank you, papa! Now, mama, your turn, although, actually, can I give both of you your presents at the same time? They're the same thing. Sort of."

"Of course," Christine said. "How intriguing."

Gustave, it turned out, had written them both songs. As they scanned the sheet music, Erik and Christine both got a little misty-eyed.

"Son, this is exquisite work."

"Oh, darling, it's simply beautiful. You must play them for us after supper."

Gustave beamed.

"You're destined for great things, Gustave, if you can produce music like this at only ten."

"You really think so, papa?"

"I _know_ so. And it's a very thoughtful gift – thank you."

The giving continued. Erik received a beautiful new pocket watch from Christine and, touchingly, a leather-bound photo album, which contained photographs of her and Gustave, from when Gustave was a tiny baby up until earlier that year.

"They were sent over with my things," Christine explained. "You needed to see them, so I set about arranging them in a new album. I know it doesn't make up for not being there, but I hope it helps in some way."

Erik was so choked up he couldn't speak. He flipped open the album cover, and on the first page, asleep in his mother's arms, was his son, _his _baby boy, small and fragile and completely _perfect. _A caption underneath, read, _'Gustave at one day old'_. He was overwhelmed. "I don't even…" He sniffed, then pulled both Christine and his son to him and held them tightly. "Thank you, thank you so much. It's the most precious… Thank you."

Christine was given a stunning pearl necklace with matching drop earrings, and an exquisitely embossed diary, complete with a little lock and key.

"I remember you saying you wanted to start one," Erik said, and was rewarded with a kiss and a beautiful smile.

"I love them all, I love _you_." Christine went to kiss him again, and Gustave pulled a face.

"Stop that," he said, in such a way that it made both Erik and Christine burst out laughing.

"Gustave, you remember how I wouldn't let you into your bedroom, earlier?" Erik asked.

"…Yes."

"Well, I think you might want to take a look, now."

It took a second for what his father was implying to sink in, then he sprung up and ran to his room. He flung open the door and there, up against the far wall, standing proudly, all polished wood and shiny keys, was his very own upright. Gustave, his eyes like saucers, ran over to inspect his new piano as Erik and Christine stood in the doorway, watching their son lovingly as he played some of the keys. Gustave turned to them.

"Is this really _mine_?"

Erik nodded. "Completely."

"Oh, papa, thank you!" Gustave launched himself at him, nearly knocking Erik off his feet.

"You're very welcome," he said, squeezing the boy tightly, before watching him take off again towards the piano.

Christine hugged Erik's arm. "That was very thoughtful of you."

"Well, I have a lot of years to make up for."

* * *

The clock on the mantel struck 10 p.m. The fire was beginning to die down. On the floor, Gustave was fast asleep on a pile of cushions. On the sofa, Christine was lying against Erik, their heads touching, the both of them dozing. At the last strike of the clock, Christine stirred, yawned, and rubbed her eyes sleepily. Her gaze fell onto Gustave, and she smiled.

"Darling," she whispered, nudging Erik gently.

"Hmmm…" His eyes didn't open.

"Darling – look."

Erik cracked one eye open, and then the other as he looked to where Christine was pointing. He smiled softly. "What an angel our child is. So peaceful – if only he slept all the time," he joked.

Christine laughed. "The joy of children. We should put him to bed, though – that floor can't be too comfortable." She rose, and while she was readying Gustave's bed, Erik picked his son up, being careful not to wake him, and carried him through.

"I should change him out of his clothes, but one night won't hurt. Look at that face – I couldn't bear to wake him," Christine said, as Erik placed Gustave gently down and pulled the covers up over him. They left the room quietly, closing the door without a sound, and returned to the living room. Christine picked up the cushions from the floor and placed them back on the sofas, and was just about to sit when Erik slid his arms around her waist from behind.

"I think that Christmas could very well be my favourite time of year."

"I knew you'd love it," Christine smiled.

Erik kissed her neck. "It was worth missing every other Christmas just to get to this one. Thank you."

Christine turned and caught his lips. "It was my pleasure."

"Mmmm. How about we blow out the candles on the tree," he kissed her cheek, "turn out the lights," he kissed her other cheek, "and head to bed ourselves," he finished, kissing her mouth.

Christine melted into him, grabbing the lapels of his jacket and pulling him closer. "Sounds perfect."

"Merry Christmas, my love."

"Merry Christmas."

* * *

**So, what exactly is the big secret that Erik doesn't know about? And why was Gustave so sad watching those children in the snow? Find out soon! (Although, maybe not at the same time). Please review :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**I've been doing a lot of thinking about Erik and Christine's relationship because I was worried I was making them too out-of-character, but then I realised how much people change when they're part of a couple. They get used to being together, they relax more, they do things around each other that they wouldn't do in front of anyone else. People who are completely dignified in public can be completely different behind closed doors, especially when they're in love. And, as the actual show ended so tragically, none of us really know what it _could _have been like if they'd had the opportunity to really embrace each other as a couple, to open up that much. So, I hope I'm doing ok and that it doesn't seem too out of place. I know, from experience, what love does to people, so, to me, it's quite truthful.**

**And now, onto the surprise!**

* * *

Erik's staff were stood in a neat, presentable line, dressed in their best clothes, shoes scrubbed and shiny. Christine smiled at them, barely contained excitement written all over her face.

"You all look _wonderful_. Now, does everyone know what they're doing? Mr Squelch, Dr Gangle - do you have the telegram?"

"Yes, Miss Daae."

"Oh, I hope it works."

Squelch offered her a smile. "I assure you, everything will go smoothly."

"Yes, yes it will," Christine replied, confidently. "Thank you, all of you - I couldn't have done this without your help. Now, the cabs are waiting outside, just remember to all be inside by quarter-to-three. Erik mustn't see you."

There was a chorus of 'Yes, Miss Daae' and an excitable flurry amongst the household. They went on their way, and Christine clapped her hands in delight before walking over to where Francine was waiting for her, along with Fleck, who looked a little uneasy.

"Oh, it's all going to be perfect! Why, Miss Fleck, whatever's the matter?" Christine asked, upon seeing her awkwardness.

"Nothing, I…" she sighed.

"Go on…" Christine encouraged, gently. She hadn't spent that much time with the talented aerialist, but she knew enough about Fleck to know that, sometimes, she wished she could walk amongst everyone else, away from Coney Island, and not be judged. So, Christine had given her a special role, hoping make her feel included.

"Are you sure I won't look ridiculous?"

Christine reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. "Not at all. You'll look beautiful. As always," she smiled. "Now, we'd best make sure we have everything, find my son, wherever he may be, and then we must get going."

* * *

"Master?"

"Squelch - what can I do for you?"

"This came for you," Squelch said, handing Erik the telegram.

Erik took it from him, opened it, and then frowned.

"Something wrong, Sir?"

"Yes… No," Erik sighed. "I'm wanted in the city this afternoon. Seems to be some confusion over the taxes that have been paid on Phantasma."

"Ah, Mr Wilson - doesn't he usually come to you?"

"Indeed he does, but he is unable to due to a meeting, and it's urgent, apparently. I'd best change - could you have the carriage brought round, please?"

Squelch nodded and left, and Erik wandered off to his room. Opening his wardrobe, he pulled out the first morning suit he saw and grumpily changed into it. As if he didn't have better things to do on New Year's Eve. He hadn't been in the best of moods to begin with - his fiancée and his son had disappeared goodness knew where, without even leaving a note, and everyone was still behaving bizarrely, even though Christmas was over. He just didn't understand it, and it was driving him absolutely mad.

He finished dressing, picked up his folder of business papers from the study, and sullenly left the hotel. Outside, he was surprised to see Squelch, along with Gangle, in the place of his driver.

"What are both you doing here?"

"Jones is unwell, sir," Gangle replied.

"Oh - will he be all right? Do I need to send him a doctor?"

"It's just a cold, sir."

Erik nodded. "Very well," he said, climbing into the carriage.

The journey seemed to take a lot longer than usual, mostly because Erik was bored and tetchy. He stared out of the window, watching the world go by. The sun was shining and the last couple of days had been a little milder, melting away the last of the snow. But it was still very cold - he could see his breath in front of him in the carriage. He huffed. This had better not take long.

* * *

"Mr Y?"

"Yes?" Erik said, eyeing the young man in front of him.

"Please, could you follow me? Mr Wilson is waiting."

"Of course."

They left the lobby, walking down a long corridor before stopping at a door on the right.

"After you, sir," the young man indicated.

Erik turned the knob, pushed the door open, stepped through, and… Oh. That was _not _what he was expecting. The room he'd walked into was grand - high ceiling, marble floor, beautifully carved stonework, red silk curtains, a sparking chandelier and flowers on every surface. But it wasn't the grandeur which had surprised him so much as the chorus of whoops and the shouting of 'Happy wedding day!' that assaulted him as he entered. Hang on - what? _Wedding day_?

"Well, come on, sir, don't just stand there," Mary, the cook, said, as she approached him and plucked his folder from his hands with the promise to return it safely, before gently maneuvering him down the aisle towards were an elderly man stood, and, to the side of him, a string quartet.

Erik couldn't speak at first. His mouth was dry and it took a moment for him to collect himself. "_Wedding _day?" he finally said, a little dumbly.

Mary gave him a motherly smile. "Miss Daae organised the whole thing. What a wonderful lady you have, sir."

"City Hall conducts weddings?"

"Of course."

It took a moment, but then Erik laughed, unbelievably but joyously all the same. "I can't believe it - all this time I thought the lot of you had gone mad! It was _this_, all along?"

"It was indeed."

"And the telegram?"

"A fake."

"Oh, she's good - she's very, _very _good."

They reached the elderly man, the registrar, and Erik shook his hand delightedly.

"Mr Y, a pleasure. Or perhaps, for the purpose of this day, I should call you Mr 'Muhlheim'?"

"How did you…"

"Your fiancée had to disclose your name when applying for the marriage licence."

"Ah, of course."

"Well, Mr Muhlheim, don't worry about a thing - when it's time, just repeat after me."

* * *

"Mother, you look _beautiful_."

"Oh, thank you, Gustave." Christine kissed his cheek. "And look at you in your suit, my handsome boy."

"_Christine!_"

Whirling around, Christine saw an ecstatic looking Meg, followed by Madame Giry, approaching her. "Meg!" She looked down at Gustave. "Darling…"

"It's all right, mama - I invited them."

"You did? But…"

"I knew you were sad that you couldn't invite Meg, even though you never mentioned it, and I didn't want you to be sad on your wedding day. I had an invitation sent to where they were staying."

"Gustave…" Christine hugged him. "Are you sure? I don't want you feeling worried."

He nodded. "I thought about it a lot. I'm not scared, now," he smiled. Then, he added, in a whisper, "I still don't like them much, though."

Christine had to stop herself from laughing. "That's fine. Thank you, my wonderful boy." She straightened up. "Oh, Meg," she said, embracing her friend. "I'm so glad you're here - and you as well, Madame Giry."

"My dear child, what a marvellous day for us to all be coming together," Madame Giry replied, taking hold of Christine's hands.

Meg smiled down at Gustave, and he offered a small, unsure one in return.

"Christine, that dress…Why, you're exquisite. And Miss Fleck - how lovely to see you."

"Meg, Madame Giry," Fleck nodded, politely.

"Doesn't she look lovely? You all do. Oh, I hope Erik is all right." Christine looked suddenly nervous, and Gustave took her hand.

"Papa will be so happy, mama - don't worry."

She smiled. "Yes, you're absolutely right."

Just then, Francine came running round the corner. "Mademoiselle, it is time!"

Christine took a deep breath, and then exhaled slowly. "Thank you, Francine. Would you please show Madame Giry inside? Meg, I'd like you to join Miss Fleck as a bridesmaid - if you want to, that is."

Meg was overjoyed. "Oh, Christine! It would be an _honour_."

The group made their way up the corridor, Christine holding onto Gustave's hand tightly. When they stopped outside the large, oak doors, Fleck stooped to straighten the train of Christine's dress and fan out her veil. Christine fondly touched the pearls around her neck that Erik had given her for Christmas, and then took the flowers that Fleck held out for her. One of the doors opened slightly, and Francine's head popped out.

"Are you ready for the doors, mademoiselle?"

Christine let go of Gustave's hand and took his arm instead. She nodded. "Ready."

* * *

Erik watched with anticipation as the doors opened at the back of the room and the music started. And then, he couldn't breathe. Christine was stunning, beautiful beyond anything. Her face was glowing, and her gown of white lace and silk against her creamy skin made her look almost ethereal. She was heaven, and heaven was walking towards him, eyes only on him, lips turned up in a shy smile, and if he could have grabbed her and kissed her and carried her away there and then, he would have. And on her arm, looking handsome and proud, was their son. Oh, what joy. Erik smiled widely at her, his face amazement and awe, and she beamed at him, and then she was next to him, even more breathtaking up close.

Gustave handed his father his mother's hand, and grinned at him before taking a kiss from his mother and sitting down.

Erik pressed his lips to it, playfully whispering the word 'sneaky', and then told her she looked beautiful in a low voice which gave him result he'd intended, which was to make Christine blush.

The service began. Erik was glad of the simplicity of it all. It was no over-the-top, lavish affair full of pretentious idiots and money-hungry socialites they didn't know - it was just him and Christine, their son, and the people who, employees or not, actually meant something to him because they were hard-working and honest and didn't judge.

The registrar spoke of what it meant to be married, of the vows they were about to take; Christine's duties as a wife and Erik's duties as a husband. He asked if there were any objections, and the room was silent. Then came the vows themselves. They promised to be faithful, to honour and cherish and love each other until their dying days. It was hard for Erik not to get choked up, especially upon seeing the tears in his beloved's eyes, but he sailed through perfectly, meant every single word, and when they were done the registrar spoke of the ring, and Gustave stood to hand a small box to him. Erik opened it, eyes wide as he saw the simple, but pretty, wedding band. A band he'd put a mark by in a little jewellery catalogue about a month before, a little catalogue he could only now remember leaving out on his desk when he'd been called away suddenly... He looked at his son and raised an eyebrow at him, and Gustave laughed quietly behind his hand. Erik was glad, however, because that had been the ring he'd wanted Christine to have, and to know that she hadn't had to pick out her own just to keep the day a complete surprise, relieved him. A few more words, the slipping of the ring onto Christine's slender finger, and they were pronounced married. Christine was now his _wife. _Erik kissed her, then, and the room burst into applause. Christine threw her arms around his neck, and giggled when he picked her up and swung her round in delight.

"I love you, so very much" he said, meaningfully. He wiped a tear away from Christine's cheek with his thumb.

"And I love _you_," his new wife beamed in return.

A flurry of activity followed the signing of the register. There were handshakes, hugs, kisses, and words of congratulations. Then everyone was ushered outside, where photographs were taken on City Hall's steps. Erik wasn't used to photographs, but he smiled brilliantly in every single one; he couldn't _stop _smiling. Neither could Christine, nor anyone else. Erik was so overwhelmed, so _proud_. Of his wife and son, unquestionably, but also of himself. He liked who he was now and, little by little, the world was less threatening. Erik knew his redemption would forever be ongoing, and he was absolutely fine with that. He didn't even entertain the thought of where his life would be if Christine hadn't come back into it, because it didn't bear thinking about – all that mattered was here and now, and the incredible chance he had been given.

"Papa!"

Erik laughed and swept Gustave up into his arms, hugging him tightly. "You and your mother are quite a team, aren't you?"

Gustave grinned. "Surprise!"

"Darling, we should get going."

"Going?" Erik asked, as he placed Gustave down. Christine nodded.

"Yes – I've made us a reservation at the Wilmington Hotel in Times Square," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Gustave, you will be good for Francine, won't you?" Christine hugged her son tight.

"Yes, mama," he replied, accepting a kiss from her.

"When your father and I return, we may just have a little treat in store for you, to say thank-you for all your help."

"Really?"

She ruffled his hair. "Really."

There was a shout, then, from the far left of the bottom of the steps: _"Hey, isn't that Mr Y and Christine Daae?"_

"Journalist!" Christine exclaimed. "I love you," she told Gustave, before asking Francine to take him and then grabbing Erik's hand and running with him as fast as she could manage in her dress towards where their carriage was already waiting, and they flung themselves inside, laughing breathlessly from the exhilaration of it all.

Erik could hear the journalist calling out to them, but the carriage was already picking up speed.

"Goodness me! Don't they ever stop?"

I'm afraid not." Erik looked at her, then, and was just about to lean in for a kiss when Christine beat him to it, grabbing his face and pulling his mouth to hers. Erik snaked his arms about her, pulling her onto his lap. When they parted, flushed and delirious, he leant his head against hers and whispered, "Mrs Erik Muhlheim."

Christine grinned. "My husband," she whispered back.

"My wife."

They were silent for a moment, simply drinking in the sight of each other. Christine pulled gently at the lapels of Erik's black velvet dress coat.

"You look so very dashing. I'm glad you found the suit I planted."

"Hmmm, now I think about it, it was rather strategically placed for me to come across."

"Of course – I didn't want you just wearing any old thing," she teased. "I knew you would look perfect in it as soon as I saw it."

"Perfect?"

"Yes – perfect. In fact..." she nipped at his neck playfully and Erik sucked in a breath.

"Temptress."

Christine grinned wickedly. "Soon, my love." Then she shivered. Erik took his jacket off and placed it around her shoulders. "Thank you," she said.

"Didn't you have a coat with you?"

"I forgot it in all the excitement. But isn't that what husbands are for?" Christine gave Erik a look and he knew what she was after. He lifted his arm, and she cuddled into him.

"Now, tell me everything. I honestly thought you'd all lost your heads," Erik said, rubbing a hand up and down her arm.

"I know," she laughed. "I'm sorry about that. Well, it started when I went into the study one day to get some note paper. Gustave was with me and noticed the ring catalogue open on your desk."

Erik shook his head, inwardly scolding himself for being so careless.

"Anyway, we saw the ring you'd put a cross next to, and Gustave suddenly said wouldn't it be fun if I gave you a surprise wedding? It was odd, because I didn't even stop and think about if it was a ludicrous idea or not, I just knew that our son had come up with something wonderful. It went from them. It was difficult, of course, and I came close to blurting it out more than once, especially when I saw how it was agitating you, but I knew it would be worth it, so I persevered – and here we are."

"You amazing woman," Erik said, kissing her hand. "You crafty, sneaky, amazing woman. And Gustave, too. Just when I didn't think I could love either of you any more. It was so very definitely worth it. But I didn't think you wanted to get married so soon?"

Christine smiled softly. "I never wanted to wait too long, I was just grateful that you left me to go at my own pace. I realised, rather quickly, that I didn't want to start the New Year not being your wife. So New Year's Eve it was. And this," she gestured out the window to the grand building the carriage was coming to a stop in front of, "is our own private celebration. Top floor suite. Perfect view of the 'ball drop'."

"Oh, yes! I read about that. Intriguing."

"Hmmm, and you and I, on a balcony, at midnight, fireworks exploding through the air..."

"Sounds magical." Erik kissed her. "Come on, let's get inside."

* * *

Erik opened the door to their suite, then made Christine shriek with delight as he picked her up and carried her over the threshold. He kicked the door closed behind him, and then nearly tripped over the luggage that Christine had had sent ahead. His wife laughed, holding onto him for dear life.

"Idiot bellboy, leaving them right there."

"No harm done, don't grumble."

Erik grinned and carried her though to the bedroom, dropping her, gently, onto the bed. "You'll hear no grumbling from me - none at all," he said, climbing over her, his grin widening as he heard Christine hold her breath in anticipation, eyes burning into hers. "Now, there is no doubt that you make the most exquisite bride the world has ever seen, but..." He kissed her neck, swept his lips across her décolletage, smiling wickedly as she sighed. "... as beautiful as that dress is, I'd very much like to see you out of it," he finished, voice low and deep, the pretty flush that had crept across Christine's cheeks, the full, bottom lip caught between her teeth setting fire to his skin.

"Anything for you, my darling husband," Christine breathed, reaching up to kiss him.

"My darling wife..."

* * *

"I still can't believe we slept for so long – I've never eaten dinner this late before," Christine said, sipping the last of her champagne.

Erik smiled knowingly at her.

She giggled and flapped her napkin at him. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what, my love?"

Christine stood from the table and sashayed over to him, eyes fixed firmly on his. She climbed onto his lap. "You _know_ what." She kissed him. "Are you happy?"

Erik ran a hand through her now loose curls, pushing them away from her face. "Deliriously so. You?"

"Completely. Utterly. Absolutely." Christine kissed him again. "What time is it?"

"A little after eleven," he replied, glancing at the clock on the mantel. "Christine?"

"Mmmm?"

"Thank you."

"What for?" she asked, looking at him earnestly.

Erik stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. "Everything. I had nothing, and now I have everything. When I was a child, I was the bane of my mother's life. People were terrified of me, thought that somehow I would curse them with my fate if they got too close. I resigned myself to never finding any sort of compassion, let alone love of any kind. And now I'm _married._ I have a beautiful bride, a _wife_, and not only that, a _child_. A wonderful, bright little boy who is not ashamed of me, and does everything he can to make me happy. I haven't earned any of that, but I'm going to happily work for it for the rest of my life, I promise you."

"Oh... No – you deserve _everything._"

Erik bushed his hand against his wife's cheek again and then pressed his mouth to hers. They stayed like that for a while, just holding each other, and then Christine suddenly let out a little squeal of excitement. Erik looked at her questioningly.

"It's five minutes to midnight!"

Erik chuckled. "You're really looking forward to this, aren't you?"

Christine got up, holding out her hand for him. "Come on - let's go out onto the balcony." She lead him through to the living room, pulled open the French doors, and stepped out, sucking in a sharp breath as she did. "Goodness, it's cold! It's like ice again." She pulled her robe further around her, but it was a feeble attempt.

"Wait here." Erik dashed back inside, quickly returning with a blanket. He placed it round her shoulders. "Better?"

"Much," she smiled. "But, what about you?"

"I'm fine." He stood behind her and rubbed her arms to warm them. "Actually, I've been thinking about something..."

"Go on..."

"Well... I've been thinking we should move. I don't want my family living in a hotel forever. I thought maybe I could buy us a house in Manhattan. I know you prefer the quietness of Coney out-of-season, but if we had a house overlooking Central Park... What do you think?"

Christine's face, bright as the sun, said it all. "Oh, Erik! As long as we're all together, I don't mind where we are. Our own house... _Really_?"

Erik grinned. "Really. And any day you want to get out of the city, Coney will be there for you. I'll keep the suite as it is, just for us, and we can use it at weekends, or whenever you like. We'll start looking next week – my wedding gift to you."

"Oh... Oh, I don't think I could be any happier!" Christine threw her arms around him and Erik hugged her back tightly, laughing as she bounced on her feet excitedly.

Down below, a huge crowd of people had gathered, the anticipation rising steadily. Then, there was an enormous cheer as the top of One Times Square suddenly lit up as a huge ball of light slowly started to descend.

Christine gasped, wrapping her arms around Erik's waist as she watched it, her eyes wide with glee. The sound of people counting down rose up to their ears. The ball continued to drop.

_Five!_

_Four!_

_Three!_

_Two!_

_One!_

Fireworks exploded, a rousing chorus of Auld Lang Syne drifted upwards, people cheered and embraced.

The newly-weds kissed. Christine sighed happily.

"Happy New Year, my angel."

"Happy New Year, my wonderful wife."

* * *

**Hope you all enjoyed that! Please drop me a little review if you did :) I made up the name of the hotel, but I researched the Ball Drop (I'm British, so didn't know much about it). At midnight on New Year's Day, 1908, it did indeed drop for the very first time :) Also, I debated for a long time about using Erik's surname (I couldn't think of a surname to use, so I used the only one he's ever been given, which came from the book The Phantom in Manhattan), in case of any digging up of his past, but then I thought he probably, once he'd run away from home, had never used it anyway, so it would be fine. After all, Christine can't go around being called 'Mrs Y' XD**


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I'm glad you enjoyed it :)**

**This chapter includes the Vanderbilts. I've based Henry (who doesn't actually appear!) and Cissy on Alfred and Elise Gwynne Vanderbilt, but changed their names as one: It felt a bit weird writing about real people doing things in a fictional world, and two: I don't really know much about them and how they behaved.**

**I rather enjoyed writing this chapter, so I hope it pleases :)**

* * *

"Mother, why are you wearing your wedding dress?"

"Because it's customary for a newly married woman to wear her dress to social functions during her first six months of marriage."

"Oh. Does that mean father has to wear his wedding suit as well?"

Christine smiled. "No, my love."

"But why?"

"I… You know, Gustave, I've no idea."

"I think that's very strange."

Christine laughed. "Yes, I suppose it is a bit. Now, are you all ready for bed?"

"Yes, mama."

"Good boy." She pulled back the covers on his bed so he could climb in. "We'll be home late, so if you need anything Francine will take care of it," she said, tucking him in and giving him a kiss.

There was a gentle knock at the door, and Erik poked his head around. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Christine replied, standing and smoothing down her dress. She leaned over a little to run her fingers through her son's hair. "Goodnight darling, we'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, mama. Goodnight, papa!" he called out to his father.

"Goodnight, son."

Christine closed the door behind her as she left, and then smiled up at her husband. "Don't you scrub up well?"

Erik chuckled, but it wasn't enough to hide his nervousness. He looked a little worried and he kept fiddling with his bow-tie.

"Oh, darling - we really don't have to go if you don't want to. I'm honestly not fussed."

"My dear, I'm perfectly fine," he reassured her. He gave her a quick kiss. "Besides, you've been hidden away for too long. I want to show you off, my beautiful wife."

"I'm not a trophy, darling."

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Hmmm, well I don't want 'showing off' if it means you'll be uncomfortable all night."

"I'll survive, I'm sure."

Christine wrapped her arms around Erik's neck and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth. "All right, but as soon as you feel you want to leave, we will."

"You've got yourself a deal."

Erik and Christine had been invited to the first big social event of the year - the Valentine's Day ball hosted by the Vanderbilts at The Plaza Hotel, an impressive building only recently opened in Manhattan. They'd never met the Vanderbilts, but ever since Erik and Christine's engagement had been announced, people had been even keener to meet the millionaire impresario and his famous soprano wife-to-be, and now that they were married, that keenness had intensified. Heaven forbid Erik let them get a reputation for being rude and unsociable, so he'd told Christine to accept, more for her sake than his.

Erik took Christine's hand and led her into the living room. "Before we go there's something I'd like to give you…"

On a little side table, next to a vase of beautiful red roses that he'd given Christine earlier that day, sat a rectangular box covered in red velvet. Erik picked it up and handed it to her with a smile. "Happy Valentine's Day… Again."

"Oh, Erik, you really shouldn't have…" Christine opened the box and gave a little gasp. There, nestled in the white silk lining, was a stunning pearl and diamond bracelet.

"To match your necklace and earrings," Erik explained, removing it from the box and clasping it around his wife's wrist.

Christine took his face in her hands and kissed him passionately. "I _adore_ it. Thank you."

He ran his thumb across her cheek. "You're very welcome, my love. Come, we should get going - we don't want to be late."

* * *

"Ah, the famous Mr Y! Or, indeed, Mr Erik Muhlheim. Albert Sinclair, of Sinclair Shipping."

Erik eyed Sinclair warily as he shook his hand. "Pleasure."

"Dear fellow, the pleasure is all mine." Sinclair stopped a passing waiter and grabbed two glasses of champagne, handing one to Erik. He raised his glass. "Cheers."

Erik raised his in return, knowing the protocol but really not comfortable in this new, very strange social situation. Still, he had to try his best.

"I was so sorry to read about your accident in the paper. Was he mad?"

"Oh, er, yes, yes he was."

"Thought so - no sane person would do something like that to another human being, surely?"

"You'd be surprised what humans can do to each other," Erik replied, taking a mouthful of champagne and letting it glide soothingly down his throat.

"Yes, yes, I suppose you're right. Well, I admire your courage, anyway. Also, congratulations on your marriage - between you and me, I don't blame you for keeping the wedding off the radar. I find these social occasions ghastly at the best of times. I have no idea who most of these people even are."

Erik relaxed a little. Maybe this Sinclair wasn't so bad. "I completely agree. Actually, the wedding was entirely Christine's idea. I knew nothing of it until the actual day."

Sinclair looked surprised. "Well, I've never heard of that before. I assume you were all for it, having 'done the deed', as it were."

"Of course. My wife is a remarkable woman - I'm very lucky."

"You are," Sinclair smiled, genuinely. "She seems to be quite the hit as well," he said, nodding over to where Christine was caught between a gaggle of women, poised and elegant with a smile that lit up the entire room. Erik couldn't tell if she was enjoying their company or not, but she would never let on in front of them for her good manners would simply not allow her. She was a star in every right.

Sinclair chuckled. "If only you could see how proud you look. I'd say she was just as lucky as you. Come on, I have some friends I'd like you to meet. We're all dying to know how you built Phantasma, and in return I'm sure we could all bore you to death with our dull-in-comparison enterprises," he joked.

Erik smiled. "Lead the way."

* * *

"Oh, Christine, I'm _so _glad you could join us - why, you're an utter delight!" Cecilia Vanderbilt, known to her friends as Cissy, gave Christine's arm a friendly squeeze.

Christine smiled a little shyly. "That's very kind of you."

"And that dress is_ stunning. _What a beauty you are. The materials are exquisite. Who made it?"

"Alexander Elliott. He did such a wonderful job in such a short space of time. I couldn't thank him enough."

"Oh, of course, Alexander - he's one of my favourites."

One of the other women turned to her, clearly eager to speak. "I must say, your husband is very handsome, but the other side of his face - you have an awfully big heart to marry a man so injured. How do you cope when the mask comes off?"

"Charlotte!" Cissy scolded, looking absolutely scandalised.

"No, I didn't mean…"

Christine glared at her. "I don't 'cope', I don't need to 'cope'. I love my husband very much and his face is not an issue. He is a beautiful, kind man with a big heart, and how _dare _you ask me such a thing, a person who I've only just met!"

"I'm… I'm so sorry, Christine…"

"It's 'Mrs Muhlheim', thank you very much," Christine all but spat, before turning and storming off. Cissy went after her.

"Christine! Christine, please, I'm so sorry. That was unforgivably rude of her."

Christine stopped and sighed. "There's no need for you to apologise on her behalf, it wasn't your fault."

Cissy put a hand on her arm. "I know, but she is a guest of mine and that holds me partly responsible. But I want you to know, I wasn't thinking the same as her - we're not_ all _like that."

"Thank you." Christine gave her a small smile.

"Why don't I introduce you to my husband? I know he'll be thrilled to meet you and Erik."

* * *

"Say, it seems one of the ladies has upset your wife," Sinclair said, gesturing over to where Cecilia Vanderbilt was chasing after Christine.

Erik frowned and put down his glass. "Gentlemen, please excuse me," he said, standing from the table he was sat at with Sinclair and his friends, nodding politely at them before hurrying away. Christine looked so angry - what could they have said?

Erik pushed his way through the crowd of people, some trying to get him to stop and talk to them once they saw his half-masked face and instantly knew who he was. He brushed them off politely as he went, and when he reached Christine, he was relieved to see that she looked a little calmer. "Christine!"

She turned at the sound of his voice, and she looked so relieved to see him that it sent a jolt of affection straight to his heart.

"Darling…"

"Whatever's the matter?" he asked, cupping her cheek and looking at her in concern.

Christine shook her head. "Nothing, don't worry. I'm fine now. Erik, this is Mrs Vanderbilt…"

Cissy held out her hand and Erik kissed it politely.

"Please, call me Cissy. How wonderful to meet you at last, Mr Muhlheim."

"Call me Erik."

Cissy smiled. "Erik. I'm afraid a so-called friend of mine said something to your wife that was completely out-of-line. I can only apologise - it won't happen again. Now I was just saying that you should both come and meet my husband, wherever he may be…"

"Ah, we've met - he came over whilst I was talking to Mr Sinclair."

"Oh, yes, Albert - lovely man. Decent. Not many of him about, unfortunately - excluding present company, of course."

"Well, thank you."

Next to Erik, Christine beamed proudly.

"Christine, as soon as I find my husband I shall bring him straight over to you. Please, excuse me."

As Cissy left, Erik took hold of Christine's hands. "You look a little tired, my love - are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine, honestly," she said, giving him a reassuring smile.

Erik didn't look convinced. "What was said to you?"

Christine sighed. "Nothing, it doesn't matter. It was just Cecilia's friend, Charlotte Williamson, speaking of things she had no right to."

"It was about me, wasn't it?" Erik asked, softly. "About my face. Curious, was she?"

"I'm sorry." Christine hung her head.

Erik placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face back up. "Whatever for? Don't let her upset you – she's not worth the bother."

"I know – you're right." She leaned into him. "Why don't we have a dance? Remember that waltz I taught you the day after our wedding?"

He grinned. Of course he did. He also remembered what that close dance had led to, and understood completely why there had been scandal over it when the waltz had first become popular. "As if I could forget," he winked, and Christine blushed.

"None of that here," she lightly scolded, trying not to smile and letting him lead her to the floor.

They came together and moved in perfect time, not a step out of place. Erik pulled his wife a little closer and whispered in her ear. "Told you I hadn't forgotten."

"Apparently not. I'm glad we can do this - it's been a while since I've danced. Oh…"

"Christine…" Erik held her tighter as she suddenly stumbled a little, her hands grasping his arms. "What's wrong?" he asked, worriedly.

"Nothing, nothing, I…" Christine took a deep breath and blinked a few times as if clearing her vision. "I'm just a little hot and dizzy. Could we perhaps get some air? I'm sure I just need to cool down."

"Of course." Erik put an arm around her and guided her towards the courtyard.

"Actually, do you think we could go across to the park? It's a little crowded out there. I'd rather not be bombarded with questions."

They left the hotel without much attention drawn to them, Erik collecting their coats from the attendant, and crossed the street to the park. It was quiet, the sky clear and cool, the stars twinkling brightly. They took a stroll around the pond, and soon Christine was feeling herself again.

"That was very strange indeed, but I'm feeling fine, now."

"Well, it was awfully crowded in there. Perhaps you're right - you just got too hot."

Christine hugged her husband's arm. "It's so lovely out here."

"Very soon you'll be able to walk here whenever you like. Next week, in fact. Did you tell anyone we were moving here?"

"No, not yet. Did you?"

"No. I thought we'd have enough questions fired at us without everyone suddenly wanting to know all about our new home as well."

"I can't wait though, can you? It really is stunning." Christine sighed contentedly and looked up. "Isn't the view glorious tonight?"

Erik looked at her. "It's _always _glorious."

"Well, not when - oh…" she said, realising her husband was looking at her and not the sky. "You're such a romantic." She leaned in to steal a kiss, then giggled when Erik took her hand and pulled her into the trees. When he was sure they were hidden enough, he pushed his wife up against the trunk of one and kissed her deeply. Christine gasped into his mouth and ran her hands across his back, grabbing at his coat. "What if… someone… sees us…" she breathed, in-between kisses.

"Shall I stop?"

"No!" She pulled him closer and Erik smiled against her.

Moments later there was the sound of the undergrowth crunching, and they pulled apart breathlessly.

"What was that?" Christine whispered, holding on tightly around Erik's neck.

"Wait here." Erik stepped away quietly, turning and looking into the trees. He moved forward silently, towards where the noise had come from, ready to pounce on any sneaky reporter lurking in the shadows, or anyone from the ball who might be spying on them. Suddenly, something leapt out in front of him, and he jumped, cursing as he did, and then laughed in relief.

"What is it?" Christine asked, moving toward him.

He turned to her, grinning. "A rabbit! Nothing more than a pesky rabbit."

Christine put a hand to her chest, and let out the breath she had been holding. "Oh, thank God. Perhaps we should get back before anyone _does _see us."

Erik took hold of her hand. "I suppose. We don't want any scandalous gossip going around." He kissed the tip of Christine's nose, smiling. "It was fun, though."

"Oh, absolutely."

* * *

"Christine, there you are! I was told you'd left, but I was sure you wouldn't have without saying goodbye."

"Not at all, we were just taking the air."

"Yes, these things do get a little claustrophobic at times, don't they?" Cissy took her arm. "Come, I've found Henry." They were just about to move, when a voice called out.

"Erik! I was wondering what had happened to you." Sinclair appeared through the crowd of people, and smiled when he saw Christine and Cissy. "Ladies."

"Ah, Mr Sinclair, allow me to introduce my wife, Christine."

Sinclair kissed Christine's hand. "Charmed. I've only heard good things about you, ma'am."

Christine laughed a little. "Well, that's good to know. Lovely to meet you, Mr Sinclair."

"Oh, Albert, please. Say, do you mind if I steal your husband away for a few minutes?"

"Go ahead."

"Yes, let's leave the boys to their own devices for a while, shall we?" Cissy said, humourously.

They went their separate ways. Erik followed Sinclair across the room towards the table they had been sitting at before. He was left alone for a moment while his new friend went to find drinks, and soon found himself approached by a pretty young blonde woman, who smiled coquettishly at him and slid into the seat next to his.

"Do you mind? It's all getting a bit hectic out there, and to tell you the truth, I'd rather been hoping to meet you. I'm Caroline Wilkes." She held out her hand, and Erik took it politely, looking a little uncomfortable as he did.

"Mr-" He stopped himself. "Erik Muhlheim."

"Oh, yes, I know who you are. Such a shame your wife has left you alone. Or not…" she moved closer to him.

Erik cleared his throat. "Well, actually…"

Caroline giggled flirtatiously. "I sing a little, you know."

"You do?"

"Yes. Perhaps I could come and 'sing' for you, sometime?" Her hand slid over Erik's, but Erik pulled his away quick as a flash.

What was going on? Was she _flirting _with him? Why? That sort of attention never happened to him. Ever. Not from people who weren't his wife, anyway. This woman was shameless, and he already disliked her intensely. "Madam…"

She tutted at him. "Now, now – no need for such formalities…"

"Caroline!"

Caroline moved back and looked up to see Sinclair glaring at her. "Leave the man alone – can't you see he's not interested?"

"I was only introducing myself," she said, innocently.

"Trying to seduce him, more like. Always the mistress and never the bride, isn't that right? Go and take your gold-digging claws elsewhere, woman."

Caroline turned on him. "How _dare _you. I-"

"What's going on?"

All three of them turned to see a clearly angry, but scarily controlled, Christine. Erik shuddered – he'd never seen that face on her before. He didn't even think his wife was even _capable_ of pulling such a face, but here she was, sending the look of death straight towards Caroline. Thank God it wasn't directed at him – he was sure he would have burst into flames. He made a mental note to _never_ get on her bad side. Beauty and fury had to be the most dangerous mix of all. And yet, somehow, it just made him love her even more.

Caroline forced a smile and held out her hand. "You must be Christine. I'm so happy to meet you. I was just telling your husband that I sing, too – maybe we could…" She trailed off as she realised Christine was ignoring her outstretched hand, her expression unchanged.

"How… _quaint_. What's your name?"

"Caroline. Caroline Wilkes."

"Caroline Wilkes… Sorry, I don't think I've heard of you. Where have you sung?"

"Well, I… I've only really just started."

Christine smiled patronisingly. "How lovely. It's always nice to have a hobby, isn't it?"

Erik cringed. Even Sinclair looked like he was ready to bolt. Caroline looked humiliated, briefly, then covered it with a smile and looked over her shoulder, calling out, to no one in particular, "What was that, darling? Oh, coming! Please, excuse me." And off she went, disappearing into the throng as fast as she could.

Christine turned to face her husband, her expression, now she was focused on him, nothing but gentle. Erik relaxed a little, but still felt the need to defend himself. "I wasn't-"

"-I know, darling. My apologies, Mr Sinclair."

"Oh, no need – she's nothing but a schemer, that one. She had it coming." He laughed. "You certainly gave her what for."

Christine blushed a little. "Well, honestly, what did she expect, behaving so brazenly in public, with me only across the room."

"She expected to get her way, as always. About time someone put her in her place."

"Yes, well. Anyway, the reason I came over is because Cissy asked if I wouldn't mind singing an aria for her and a few of the guests in the drawing room across the lobby, and I agreed, so would you mind accompanying me?"

Erik smiled. "Certainly, my dear." He went to move, but Christine stopped him.

"Not yet, in about half an hour. You two carry on – I'll see you later." With that, she left to rejoin Mrs Vanderbilt and her friends.

Sinclair let out a low whistle as he finally sat down. "Remind me never to get on the wrong side of your wife. Of course, now I admire her even more. A wonderful woman you have there, if you don't mind my saying so."

"Not at all. She can be quite surprising at times."

"Indeed. Now, where were we…?"

* * *

"Ah, Erik! So glad you could join us. You're quite the composer, it would seem – is there no end to your talent?"

"Madam, you're too kind."

"Oh, nonsense." Cissy turned to the small audience that had gathered and cleared her throat. "Ladies and gentlemen, please allow me to introduce the world-class soprano Christine Daae, and her husband, not only the owner and creator of Phantasma, but also a composer of the highest caliber, Mr Erik Muhlheim, more famously known as the mysterious Mr Y." She turned to Erik and Christine. "It's an honour to have you here, my wonderful new friends." Cissy clapped, and her guests joined in. She took her seat, between her husband and Albert Sinclair, and nodded at them.

Erik flexed his fingers over the keys and looked to Christine, who gave him the cue to start. He began to play the intro to Love Never Dies, and as he did he snuck a look at his wife, who looked perfectly happy and at ease, a complete contrast to how she'd looked when she'd first been waiting to sing the song he'd written only for her.

As the introduction finished, Christine opened her mouth, and Erik closed his eyes briefly at the sound of her voice. Heavenly, as always. Note perfect. He allowed himself a quick glance to his right, and he burned with pride upon seeing the transfixed faces of the audience.

No one could have known, at the point, what was about to happen. Christine sang with a graceful ease, and there was no hint of a problem until after the second verse, when she, very suddenly, put a hand to her head, her voice trailing off as she became breathless. Everyone gasped, and Erik looked up at his wife, his hands stilling at the first sign of her distress.

"Christine…" He jumped up, reaching her just as her knees buckled and she fell forward in a faint, catching her in his arms.

Cissy, in a panic, stood and ushered everyone quickly out of the room. Through the commotion, Erik managed to carry Christine across the room and place her down on one of the sofas. "Fetch a doctor!"

"_I'm a doctor!" _a voice called out, and Erik turned to see a middle-aged man hurrying over to them. Cissy joined him, hovering behind him nervously. The doctor turned to her. "Mrs Vanderbilt, could you please fetch my bag for me."

Cissy scurried off, and Erik thanked God that doctors always seemed to have their medical bags with them wherever they went.

"Erik…"

Erik breathed a sigh of relief as Christine came round, and he stroked a gentle hand over her head. "My love…"

"What happened?" She tried to sit, but Erik stopped her.

"Just rest for a moment. This is Doctor…"

"Marlow," he smiled. "Mrs Muhlheim, would you mind if I did a quick examination?"

Christine nodded, then went even paler than she already was. "Oh… I feel…" She put a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide.

Erik, thinking fast, grabbed a wide vase that was sitting on top of a small table, upended it, sending flowers and water all over the floor, and held it beneath her mouth just as she vomited. Erik rubbed her back with his free hand. When Christine was done, she looked mortified and ready to burst into tears. He felt terrible for her. "Now now, it's all right," he soothed, putting the vase to one side. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about, my darling." He kissed the top of her head, and she calmed a little. He turned to the doctor, who was taking Christine's pulse. "She felt a little unwell earlier, but seemed fine after she'd had some air."

"Hmmm… Ah, thank you," Doctor Marlow said, as Cissy hurried back in with his bag. "Now, if you both wouldn't mind waiting outside. Mrs Vanderbilt, perhaps you could arrange for some sweet tea to be brought in for Mrs Muhlheim?"

Erik tried to protest. "I really think I should stay…"

"Please, Mr Muhlheim, I insist."

"It's all right, darling," Christine said, looking at him reassuringly.

He nodded. "Very well. I'll be right outside." He left, reluctantly, and joined Cissy out in the lobby, where he paced impatiently, only stopping briefly to thank the maid as she arrived with Christine's tea. Cissy took it from her and sat with the tray on her lap.

Finally, after about twenty minutes, the doctor came out into the corridor, Erik hurried over to him. "Is she all right? What is it?"

Doctor Marlow held his hands up to placate him. "You have no need to worry, your wife is absolutely fine."

Erik looked confused. "But, she's sick…"

"No, no, not quite. Why don't you go in and speak to her?"

The doctor took the tea tray from Cissy and stepped back into the room behind Erik. Christine was now sitting up and looked much better. "Here we are," he said, with a smile. "Drink this and you'll feel much better." He poured Christine a cup with two lumps of sugar, then placed it down on the table to cool before leaving the couple alone.

Erik knelt down in front of his wife and took hold of her hands. "What is it? The doctor said you were fine, but I don't understand…"

Christine smiled widely, a look of barely contained excitement on her face. "I _am _fine. I'm… I mean, _we_… We're going to have a _baby_." Then she laughed, her hands going to her face, as if she still couldn't quite believe it.

Erik stared at her in complete shock. What? Did she just say…

"Erik…" Christine squeezed his hands, bringing him back to her.

"You… You're… We're…"

She nodded, still smiling.

"Oh… Oh! Oh, my darling girl! You clever, clever girl!" Erik pulled her into his arms. "A baby! Oh…" he sat back. "Am I hurting you?"

Christine giggled. "No, not at all." She tugged him back and rested her head against his. "A little, tiny baby…"

"Oh, Christine…" Erik rubbed his thumbs under her eyes to catch the tears that welled and spilled over, pretty sure his own were doing the same.

"I'm so happy. And this time, you won't miss a thing. How wonderful!"

Erik kissed her soundly. Just when he didn't think he could possibly be any happier, another blessing was thrown his way. "I'm so, so proud of you."

"It was _both _of us, my angel."

"Yes, but it's you who has to grow this little life," he said, putting a hand to her stomach, "and that makes you very special indeed. Did the doctor say how long?"

"Two months, maybe. A long way to go, yet."

"It will soon pass, and there's so much to be done, especially with the new house. But, don't you worry – I will build the most beautiful nursery the world has ever seen. Both of our children will have everything."

"Yes, Gustave – do you think he'll be happy?"

As Christine said that, a memory popped into Erik's head. "Do you remember on Christmas Day, when we were coming back from the church, and Gustave was watching those children playing in the snow? He wouldn't say why he looked so sad, but do you think it had something to do with not having any brothers or sisters?"

A look of realisation crossed Christine's face. "You know, I think you're right!" She smiled. "He'll be a _wonderful_ big brother."

"Indeed he will. Now, I think we should get you home, and then get you out of that corset. I've read how some doctors think they do more harm than good, even those so-called pregnancy ones, and I quite agree. I know it's not fashionable, but honestly, with your insides being squashed together already, it would surely be better if it was left off?"

Christine put a hand to his face. "Yes, it would be. I was so uncomfortable with Gustave. I felt so restricted – it was quite awful. I'll have some new dresses made up. I'm sure some clever person can think of a way for them to be supportive _and _comfortable. I shall look into it tomorrow."

"Good." Erik looked down at her stomach, then bent down and placed a kiss against it. "Now, you grow nice and strong, do you hear me, little one? And when you arrive, I shall spoil you rotten."

Christine laughed, and then yawned.

Erik stood and held out a hand to her. She clasped it tightly, and he pulled her to her feet. "All right? I could carry you, if you're still feeling faint? You haven't drunk your tea…"

"No, no, I'm perfectly fine. I'm feeling much better, now. Besides, it would only draw more attention."

"Very well," he conceded. Then he grinned. "A baby! Have I told you how much I love you?"

Christine grinned back and wrapped her arms around him. "Every day. I love you, too, more than you could possibly imagine."

They left, carrying their secret with them. The world would know when they were good and ready. For now, it was only for them, and they would cherish it.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Please review :)**


	12. Chapter 12

It was still something quite extraordinary to him, having a family of his own, having this life, this place in the world where, for the most part, people now liked and respected him. It was most peculiar, but more than welcome, now he'd gotten used to it (almost), although he was sure it would never stop being exciting. Here he was, standing by the open doors at the back of his house – _their _house - watching as his wife sat in a chair under a parasol on the lawn, her face glowing, her stomach blooming beautifully, in her own world as she lost herself in her book, her hand occasionally stretching out blindly to reach her glass of lemonade, and he could barely remember what he used to be. He could, of course, completely - a life like that is something you never forget. But at that moment, the juxtaposition seemed so unbelievable that it was easy to get caught up in this new life and blank out the past. So much had happened in the past few months – he'd celebrated birthdays - Gustave had turned eleven, Christine thirty-two - he'd made a good friend out of Albert Sinclair, they'd been invited to dinners and lunches, and it seemed as if nothing could go wrong.

Erik smiled to himself as he watched her. She seemed, as far as he could tell, completely unaware that he was there, and while it was true he could never take his eyes off of her at the best of times, now it was even harder to look away from the woman from which all his happiness had sprung. She was six months along, now, in her pregnancy, and every day seemed to bring something new. The best thing, though, had occurred when Christine had been a little over four months gone. She had come running into the study, calling his name excitedly, cheeks flushed with happiness, and then she'd grabbed his hand and placed it against her stomach, and this miracle of life, this tiny bundle that was both of them, had kicked against him, a little thud against his palm, and he'd gasped in amazement, his eyes damp with joy. So overwhelming had it been that he'd barely been able to utter a single word. Instead, he'd got to his knees and put his head against the small bump, laughing when he'd got a nudge in the side of his face, as Christine's hands had stroked the top of his head. These movements their child was making were stronger now, and every day he got prouder and prouder and more excited.

"Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to make yourself useful and refill my glass?" Christine said, smiling as she kept her focus on her book.

Erik chuckled and wandered over to her, picking up the jug on the small table beside her and refreshing her drink. He shook his head. "Good book?"

"Very." She put the book down, then, and stretched up for a kiss. Erik obliged her happily.

"I have to leave for work. Will you be all right?"

Christine took his hand and pressed her lips to it. "Of course. I'm going to take afternoon tea with the girls at The Plaza, and then I'll have Gustave to keep me company when he gets home from school."

Erik smiled. Gustave was so excited at the prospect of a little brother or sister, and he'd been so helpful. His brilliant son. He and Christine had been worried he would feel left out once the baby arrived, but he was certain now that everything would be fine - it was clear Gustave would take pride in helping to look after his much younger sibling. Even so, they would make certain that he, too, got plenty of attention.

"Now, do you need anything before I go?"

"More lemonade?"

Erik laughed and glanced at the almost-empty jug. "You'll turn into a lemon yourself if you drink much more."

"I know, I know, it's just so hot and besides, the baby wants it, too."

"Ah, is that right?"

"Of course - why else would I be craving it so?"

Erik smiled fondly at Christine's attempt to look innocent. He played along. "Very well, I'll have one of the maids bring some out to you."

Christine kissed his cheek. "Thank you, dear husband."

"You're welcome. I'll be home just after six, but if you need me, I am just a phone call away."

"I'll be fine. Go on, go - Phantasma won't run itself."

"Well, actually…"

Christine laughed. "Go!"

* * *

"You'll be all right getting home, Christine?"

"I don't have far to go, Cissy."

"I know, dear, but you look so tired. Lovely, but tired all the same. The heat must be getting to you. I know it did with me."

"Well, yes, it is a bit," Christine admitted, "but these dresses from Lane Bryant help an awful lot. It's so nice to not have a corset around me. This woman is a miracle-worker, I tell you. I was going to get someone to make some dresses especially, but then I saw her advert and it's been such a relief."

"Yes, I wish she'd been around when I was pregnant - I hear she's extremely popular, now. But, if you want that little waist back, you'll be back in that corset before long," Cissy smiled. "Of course, between us girls, I wouldn't blame you if you banished the wretched thing forever. The things we go through to look good."

"Oh, yes, I quite agree," Julia, another of their group, said. "Maybe we should have a mass burning and start a new fashion, but I fear it wouldn't catch on."

"Unfortunately not," Cissy said. "We'd probably be banished from the city, and that would be no good at all - can you imagine?" She giggled at the thought of it, then pulled herself together. "Now, off you go, Christine - rest that weary head of yours."

There were kisses and hugs, and then the women went their separate ways. Christine slowly walked the short distance back home, feeling not quite together. Tea had been lovely, and it had been nice to talk to her friends, who she'd quickly become very close to, but Cissy had been right - the heat was getting to be a bit too much, and it would only get worse as the season went on and her stomach grew bigger. There was something else, as well - she felt, quite suddenly, like she wanted to cry. That was nothing new, of course, for she'd been through the same thing with Gustave. Up and down emotions, craving certain foods and aches and pains were all par for the course. Christine sniffed to try and pull herself together. She needed comfort, and she needed it from only one person. Knowing the train would be quicker than the carriage, and certain there was one due, Christine changed her course and headed towards the station. Then she stopped and turned back. What was she doing? She needed to rest, to lie down with a cold compress and sleep for a couple of hours. She stopped again. Damn her muddled brain. She knew what was best for her, and she knew she should be doing it, but she wanted her husband, wanted his strong arms, the feel of him, the smell of him. So she followed her heart and not her head, and changed direction once again.

* * *

Erik let out a heavy sigh and crossed out part of the score he'd just written. He was tired. The summer season had only begun two weeks before, but the weather had sent more people to Coney than there had been at the same time last year. June had always been warm, certainly, for the most part, but the sun was vicious today. He hoped Christine was keeping cool and not rushing about too much – he couldn't even begin to imagine how uncomfortable his poor wife must be feeling. The heat had only got worse as the day had gone on, and she was in the city and not by the sea, where the breeze offered a little respite.

He needed a break. Erik stood from the piano and made his way down the stairs which led to the door of the aerie. He locked it securely behind him, and was half-way down the main staircase when he heard the door at the bottom open and close. He couldn't see who it was as the door was in the shadows, so he called out, "Who's there? Is that you, Giry? Meg? Squelch? Show yourself!" He ran down the last of the steps, then pulled up short when he saw who it was.

"Miss Wilkes."

"Hello, Erik. And it's Caroline."

Erik had no time for niceties, especially where this woman was concerned. "What are you doing here? This area is out of bounds – didn't you read the sign?"

"Now now, that's the not the way to treat an old friend, is it?"

"_Friend_?"

"Yes. We were getting on quite well at the Valentine's ball until we were disturbed, don't you think?" She sashayed over to him, but Erik stepped around her and walked over to the door, opening it.

"You're very much mistaken, madam – please leave."

"Oh, don't look so scared." She smiled lasciviously, and Erik cringed. "I only came to say hello. I'm on the Island with some friends and thought and I would drop by. It would have been rude not to. Why don't we go upstairs – it's awfully stuffy down here in the shadows, although..."

Before Erik had time to react, she'd moved around him and leaned against the door, closing it.

"You poor man, you look so tired. It must be hard, having a pregnant wife, no intimacy while she grows a new life inside her." Caroline reached out to touch his face, but Erik again side-stepped her, his anger growing.

"That is absolutely none of your business, _madam_. Please move away from the door so I can open it and you can leave. Now," he said, barely containing himself. Caroline was infuriating, but he did not want to lose his temper in front of her.

But Caroline only smiled again, clearly determined to get her way and not quite realising just how serious Erik was. "Your anger is very... thrilling," she said, breathlessly. "You certainly know how to fluster a girl. Why don't you just let yourself go for a bit, hmmm? It's not unusual for a man such as yourself to seek the arms of another while their wife is otherwise indisposed." She put a hand to the unmasked side of his face, and Erik grabbed it and shoved her away.

"You despicable little wench. I know _exactly _what your game is, and it won't work on me."

"Is that so?"

"Out!"

* * *

"Meg!"

"Christine!" Meg rushed over to meet her friend. "What are you doing here? You should be resting – you look flushed."

Christine sighed. "Must everyone tell me to rest all the time?"

Meg smiled. "Only when it's for your own good. Shall I fetch you something to drink?"

"No, thank you. I'm just here to see Erik – I'm sure he'll have something. Is he up in the aerie?"

"As far as I know," Meg nodded. "But, Christine, those stairs..."

Christine smiled – she knew Meg was only looking out for her. "I'll only go half-way and then I'll call up."

"And if he doesn't hear you?"

"Then I'll come back down and send my dear friend up for me."

Meg shook her head, laughing. "Very well."

"_Meg!"_

"You should get back to your rehearsal." Christine gave her friend a quick hug, then sent her on her way and headed towards the aerie. She weaved in and out of the crowds, some people recognising her and calling out a greeting, to which she smiled politely and gave a little wave, but she wasn't sure how much longer she was going to be able to hold herself together, her emotions coming and going in waves, getting stronger every time, and she had to bite her lip to keep herself in check.

Finally, she reached the aerie, and she stopped to catch her breath before pushing the door open...

* * *

Erik wasn't quite sure how it had happened, but somehow he'd gotten himself backed up against the wall. He breathed deeply to keep himself together, but his blood was boiling. How _dare _she. How dare she suggest that he would be unfaithful to his wife, the woman he loved with every fibre of his being. The mother of his children. There was no doubt in his mind that many men sought out a mistress whilst their wives were with child, but Erik was not one of them. Unlike those men, he actually respected his wife – he had eyes only for her. He glared at Caroline dangerously. "Please, madam, don't make me throw you out."

"Oh, Erik, must you play these games?" Caroline leaned into him, her hands grasping his lapels.

Erik pulled her hands none too gently away from him and pushed her backwards, just enough to make her stumble a little. "I suggest you see a doctor, Miss Wilkes – you are clearly not of sound mind."

Caroline's face changed, the look of seduction she had on for him turning to fury. "Listen here – I _always _get my way. And after the way your wife humiliated me..."

Erik laughed. "It was no less than you deserved."

"It's not funny!"

"I completely disagree, Miss Wilkes. I know exactly what you want, and it's not me, it's my money. You think I would keep a mistress, buy her shiny trinkets and keep her accustomed to a certain lifestyle, all because my wife is pregnant? All because she humiliated you, when you very nearly humiliated her first, when she'd done nothing to you? Well, you clearly know nothing about me at all."

Caroline screeched at him. "I do! You men are _all _the same. You think that just because you're rich you can go from woman to woman, never marrying the ones who actually deserve it!"

Ah. Erik understood, now. "A woman scorned. You're punishing everyone else, taking husbands to punish wives because no one ever stays with you. Jealousy is an ugly trait. Maybe if you fixed your behaviour a man would actually love you."

"...You...!" Caroline threw herself at him, crashing her lips to his, her fingers digging into his neck.

Erik lost his footing, the force throwing his weight onto one side. He instinctively put his arms out to balance himself, to stop himself from falling and, more importantly, to stop Caroline from falling onto _him_, as that would have given her an advantage, but taking that moment to save himself to avoid an even worse situation had meant he'd taken a few seconds to separate her mouth from his, although his lips had been defiantly pressed shut. Unfortunately, in those few seconds, the worst possible thing had happened.

There was a loud gasp.

Instantly, Caroline pulled away, and, as she did, Erik's eyes locked with Christine's. She looked devastated, standing by the door he hadn't even seen nor heard open, and his heart broke. He had to rectify this as quickly as possible. He stepped towards her, and his stomach twisted as Christine backed away, her hands at her mouth.

He shook his head. "Christine, no..."

And then she fled, a cry of shock leaving her mouth as she did.

"CHRISTINE!"

He ran forward, shoving Caroline out of the way as he did. "You poisonous little snake!" he yelled at her, before fleeing out into the throng of people. He looked around wildly, but he couldn't see his wife anywhere. "Christine?" He called her name, not caring what people thought as he did. They could think what they liked – none of it would be true. In that moment, all he wanted was to get to his wife, to calm her and explain himself. Running away in this heat would do her and the baby no good, and he had to find her quickly.

Finally, Erik caught a glimpse of Christine up ahead, and he shouted to her again. What was she doing? It was then that he realised she was climbing into a cab, and he ran faster.

* * *

"Go!"

"Where to, ma'am?"

"Manhattan, Fifth Avenue. Go - quickly!"

The cab took off, the wheels thundering along the road.

Distantly, Christine heard her name being called. Her heart thumping, she pulled the curtains across, then sat back and sobbed.

* * *

Erik let out a growl of frustration as the carriage disappeared up the street. "You, there!" he called out, to another cab just across from him. He ran over. "Fifth Avenue, Manhattan, and hurry!" he said, jumping in.

"Yes sir, Mr Y" the driver said, cracking the reins down on the horses. They took off.

Erik tried not to panic. Christine was obviously just shocked. She would know, surely, that he would never... Wouldn't she? She was delicate at the moment, in a fragile state. God only knew what tricks her mind was playing on her.

The carriage jolted as it came to a sudden stop. Erik heard the driver shouting at someone who had just run out in front of him, and he punched the seat in frustration, Christine getting further and further away from him.

* * *

Christine practically threw the fare for the cab at the driver as she jumped out. She didn't care if she'd overpaid him, she just wanted to get inside. She ran to the door, a hand under her stomach, and she flew in, shocking one of the maids, Jane, who jumped out of her skin at the sudden commotion.

"Miss Christine? Ma'am?"

"Make sure Francine keeps Gustave downstairs, please..." Christine said, as she ran past. She didn't stop, not until she'd cleared the stairs and reached the bathroom. Once in, she slammed the door, locked it, and ran over to the toilet, just in time to throw-up. When she was done, she stumbled over to the sink to rinse out her mouth and splash her face before sliding down to the floor, crying wretchedly, her shoulders heaving.

"_But, sir..."_

"_Just stay downstairs, Jane, please!"_

Christine panicked and tried to stand, but she was too weak. All the while, a little voice in the back of her head was telling her to just let Erik come to her. There was probably a perfectly good explanation, because he just wouldn't do that to her, not after everything they'd been through. Unfortunately, the side-effects from her pregnancy drowned that little voice of reason out, and all she could see was the image of her beloved husband kissing another woman, and not just any woman, but the little gold-digger from the ball.

"_Christine?"_

Christine refused to speak as she heard Erik burst into their bedroom.

"_Christine, please! Where are you? I know you're here..."_

She wondered why he'd bothered to follow her. _Because he did nothing wrong and you're his wife..._

The bathroom doorknob rattled, and she jumped.

"_Christine, darling, open the door, please..."_

But Christine simply couldn't move.

* * *

Erik sighed and slumped down against the door. What an awful mess. He could hear Christine sobbing, and it made him feel sick. He could kill Caroline for what she'd done. He wasn't that despicable monster anymore, having had his heart, his soul, saved by an angel, but he was furious, so it didn't stop him from thinking it.

"Christine..." He really didn't want to talk about this out in the hall, where the staff could hear. "My love, please, let's go into the bedroom and talk about this. I promise you, I did no wrong. If you'd just let me explain..."

But it was no good, for she was still crying her heart out. "Darling girl, you must calm down – think of the baby. This will do neither of you any good."

"_Go away!"_

Well, that was something, at least. He decided not to say anymore until Christine had quietened a little.

* * *

Christine knew full well that she was being completely irrational, that she was making herself look foolish, but she couldn't stop herself. Her body was doing all sorts of strange things to her. Erik was right – she had to calm down for the sake of the baby. But she didn't want to listen to him right now. She had caught her husband kissing another woman! He had been, hadn't he? She'd pushed that door open and caught them red-handed, and the worst thing was that Erik hadn't been pushing that little witch away from him. What would have happened if she hadn't walked in?

She could feel herself starting to hyperventilate, so she used the last of her energy to pull herself up so she could splash her face with water again. She breathed deeply, and the feeling passed, but the choking tears still fell.

She was so confused. He wouldn't. They'd gone through too much together. He loved her, adored her, did everything for her. She didn't want to take credit for bringing him out into the world, but now he that he was, what if he was realising there were far more exciting things, exciting _women_, than her? That now people knew him, knew this fake back-story the two of them had invented for him, and weren't afraid of him, he had more choice? In comparison, was she now dull? She looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was the same, although tear-stained and tired, but she wasn't ugly. She wasn't one to brag or to flaunt what she had, but she knew she turned heads, having witnessed it many a time. She was lucky, but she never took that luck for granted. But maybe she wasn't that beautiful to him anymore. She was bigger at this stage in her pregnancy than she had been with Gustave, and even though she'd heard that was normal, it did nothing to boost her confidence. She still had a few months to go, where she'd undoubtedly get even bigger. Did she repulse him, now? Had he just been pretending to find her appealing? Her stomach and swollen breasts made her look like she belonged in a meadow, not in a fancy house in the Upper East Side of Manhattan.

There was a gentle knock on the door. _"Christine..."_

Erik sounded so sad, but at that moment, it didn't click in her head. She just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep.

* * *

Erik took off his mask and ran his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes tiredly. A short while after they'd found out about the pregnancy, Christine had bought a book so she could refresh her memory on what to expect. Things had changed from eleven years before, and she'd found many helpful bits of advice that she had not known back then. One day, while Christine had been out, Erik had picked up this book and scanned through it. It had certainly opened his eyes. Whilst even the author had glossed over certain things (after all, even pregnancy wasn't considered lady-like, even though it was perfectly natural. He disagreed with this whole-heartedly, because his wife, with his child inside her, looked even more of a woman than ever), he'd understood most of it. Pregnant women had mood swings. They cried one minute and were happy the next. The extra weight usually upset them at some point. Their judgement became clouded. They had strange cravings and ate more than usual. They ached and over-heated. They sometimes became queasy and were often sensitive. Some women escaped a lot of the symptoms and sailed through pregnancy, whilst others had a terrible time of it. And that hadn't even been all of it. Erik had done his best for her, had been caring and understanding, and she'd mostly seemed fine. The book had even pointed, subtly, to the fact that intimacy during pregnancy would do no harm, and they'd made love only the night before. Surely, she could see that he still found her attractive? How could he not? She set him on fire, and even if he had had to stay away from her for the whole of her pregnancy, he _still _wouldn't have strayed. She'd brought him to life, and he adored her more than life itself. Caroline Wilkes had been very wrong. She'd just assumed that Erik was like all the other men she knew, that he'd find his wife unattractive and abstain from her until the pregnancy was over. He tried to feel sorry for her, that she hadn't found a man who was decent and faithful, but he just couldn't quite manage it.

The door opened, then, without warning, and Erik nearly fell backwards through it. He pushed himself up to standing just as Christine walked, hurriedly, into the hall. She didn't even stop to look at him, just carried on until she reached their bedroom. She went in, but left the door open, and Erik took that as an invitation. He quickly followed her and closed it softly behind him. Christine was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands clutching at the blankets, knuckles white. He stepped closer to her, and she visibly tensed, so he stayed where he was. "Christine, please... It wasn't what it looked like, I _swear_ to you." Erik sighed. Even though it was the truth, he knew how feeble it sounded.

"If you were going to do it, you could have at least locked the door. Do I mean so little that you didn't even think about who could have walked in and seen you?"

Christine spoke so quietly, that Erik had to strain to hear her. What she said punched him right in the stomach. "No, my love, it wasn't like that," he pleaded, moving over to her this time and sitting down. He reached out, but Christine shied away and stood up, moving over to the window.

"Then what was it like?" she burst into tears again and buried her face in one of the curtains. "Am I so hideous, now? I am, aren't I? I'm as huge as a cow!"

Oh, no, no no no. This was not meant to go this way. "Christine, of course you're not, don't be ridiculous..." He hadn't said it harshly, but knew it had been a mistake the moment it had left his mouth.

"_Ridiculous?_"

Erik cringed. "I didn't mean it like that, Christine. I'm sorry. You're not like a cow – you're beautiful."

She gave a snort of derision.

He walked over to her. "Please, don't move away from me. Did I not, only last night, show you how beautiful you were? Did I not worship you like a goddess? Did I not kiss you and caress you and adore you?"

"Pity..." she whispered.

"It was not _pity!_"

"Don't shout at me!"

"I'm not shouting! _Christine..._" It was hard, it really was, not to lose his temper. He wasn't angry at her, but at the situation. Why couldn't she just _see_ that he was not to blame?

"Please, just go," Christine begged.

"No. No, I will not. Listen to me – she forced herself on me. She wouldn't leave when I asked her to, and then she got angry. She's not right in the head, Christine. She pushed me back and I lost my balance, _that's _why I didn't push her off straight away. It wasn't because I wanted to kiss her, it was because I was trying not to land on the floor with her on top of me!"

Christine sobbed. "I can't believe you!"

Now Erik wanted to cry. "How could you not?" he asked, devastated.

She sniffed. "I... I don't know. I don't think you should stay here tonight."

"What?"

"I don't want to be near you at the moment."

"Christine, for goodness sake!"

"Don't shout!"

"I'm NOT!"

"You ARE!"

"Fine! Have it your way!" Blinded, at that moment, by hurt and fury, Erik stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Christine stared at the door; the shock of what had just happened put a momentary pause on her sobbing, although the tears still ran down her face. She had seen him sad before, seen him hurt and upset, but the look he'd given her as he'd left had torn right through her. What had she done? What was so wrong with her that she'd accused her husband of having an affair? Seeing his face just then had snapped her out of it, had cleared her confused mind. She put a hand to her stomach. Her poor child, being put through all that stress just because her emotions had gotten the better of her. Oh, what had she done?

Christine ran to the door and flung it open, but as she did, she heard the front door bang shut downstairs.

He'd really gone.

She walked unsteadily back over to their bed and crawled onto it, curling up into a ball on Erik's side. It smelt of him, and she pulled the covers up around her, imagining he was there holding her, making her feel safe and warm and loved. Except he wasn't. She'd driven him away. They'd never argued much, and certainly not like this. This morning her life had been blissful, and she'd ruined it, just like that. How could he ever forgive her? But even though she was now certain of his innocence, there was _still_ something niggling her – why had Caroline Wilkes been there in the first place? How had she known where in Phantasma to find him? Alone?

A sudden pain in Christine's stomach made her gasp, forgetting her train of thought as she looked down at her bump, her hands smoothing over it. Then it went away as quickly as it had come, and she allowed herself to relax. It was nothing, nothing at all. She just needed to sleep. She closed her eyes, exhaustion taking over, and was quickly pulled under.

* * *

**Erm, sorry about that... I specifically didn't write a note at the beginning because I didn't want to give any hint of trouble in paradise. The next chapter won't be far behind! Please review! They feed me - I love that the stats say I have a few hundred readers, and I'm honestly very grateful, but I always love to know what you think :) Thank you!**


	13. Chapter 13

**I couldn't keep you all waiting too long after that, so here's the next chapter! Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed :)**

**ChristmasJones: I couldn't PM you as you've disabled your private messages, but in answer to your question, it's not. A lot of women just find that, with their second pregnancy, they get bigger quicker than they did with their first :)**

* * *

Central Park was packed. Erik's eyes scanned around for a bench where he could sit undisturbed, but it was a futile search. He was in no mood to possibly be approached and spoken to, so he ducked into the trees and picked one to hide behind, sliding down against it. He pulled his knees up and rested his chin in his hands. He knew, at times, that the pregnancy sent Christine all over the place, and he didn't blame her for something she had no control over, but at the same time it hurt that she hadn't believed him once he'd explained, it hurt that she hadn't stopped for a moment to really think it through. Erik closed his eyes, and thought about it from her perspective. The angle she'd walked in from, all she would have seen was the back of Caroline's head, her body pressed to his. She wouldn't have seen the look of shock on his face, she probably wouldn't have even seen him attempting to right himself - how could she, when she of course would only have been focused on the fact that another woman had her mouth against his. He knew it looked bad - very, _very _bad - and that was why, along with her heightened emotional state, he didn't hold it against her. But he _was _upset and he_ was_ angry at having to have to fight to prove his innocence. That damn woman. She would pay for what she'd done. He'd make sure that her social standing suffered irreparably. Not that she really had much of it in the first place. She had a reputation for seducing married men, although it was only spoken about in hushed tones to protect the dignity of the poor wives who were being duped, most oblivious to the fact that anything had been going on at all. He had noticed, though, one or two glares in her direction at the ball, so clearly some knew, although they wouldn't dare speak about it. Also, Caroline Wilkes, unfortunately, was Cecilia Vanderbilt's cousin. Cecilia didn't like her at all, but she tolerated her for the sake of her family. So what would she say, when she found out that Caroline had hurt him and Christine so terribly, the good friend that she now was?

"Erik?"

Erik started a little and looked up to see a familiar face frowning down at him. "Albert."

"I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, but no, I really _did _see you disappear into the trees. What's wrong?"

Erik sighed and shook his head. "Everything."

Albert Sinclair smiled at him sympathetically before joining him on the ground. "Come on, then. What is it? In the dog-house, are you?"

"Something like that."

"Oh. Sorry. Want to talk about it?"

So Erik did, and when he was done, Albert looked furious. "That odious little creature. Well, that should do it - Cecilia's been looking for a way to oust her for months."

"She has?"

"Oh, yes. She's always kept her cousin's dalliances quiet to keep those poor women wronged by her and their cheating husbands away from scandal, but she's fully aware of it, which is why she detests her so much. Cissy's immediate family can't stand her, either. But this - this is different. It's even more shameful than lying with a married man who went along willingly. Cissy won't tolerate it. When she finds out Caroline continued to throw herself at you after you'd repeatedly told her you were not interested… Well, I think that is all she will need. Of course, she'll have to do it privately - even though you did no wrong, you know how people like to gossip, and I wouldn't want that for you and Christine - so goodness knows what she will say to cover Caroline's absence, but I know she's been longing to publicly humiliate her."

"Good. I was praying for just that."

"I can't say I blame you. Now, as for you, my friend…" Albert said, standing, "go home. Christine will come round, I know she will."

Erik got to his feet, unconvinced. "You didn't see her face…"

"Erik, she _will_. I've never seen a couple so openly in love as you two are. It'll be all right." Albert gave Erik a friendly slap on the back of his shoulder. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an important dinner to get to."

"Ah," Erik said, smiling. "Miss Bingham?"

Albert grinned. "The very one. Actually… I'm going to propose to her."

"Ah ha! I knew it! Congratulations." Erik shook Albert's hand enthusiastically.

"I haven't asked her yet - she might say no."

"Of course she won't, she adores you. Well, seems we both have a lot to do this evening. I'll bid you farewell. And thank you."

"Don't mention it."

* * *

Erik could hear nothing as he pressed his ear against the door to his and Christine's bedroom. Slowly, he turned the doorknob and quietly made his way inside. Just as he'd thought, Christine had exhausted herself to sleep. He crept over and knelt down beside her, gently pushing her hair back out of her face. She looked so peaceful, the stress of the day, for now, completely forgotten. Erik placed a kiss on her head and then left her alone. She needed to rest, and for that, he could wait.

* * *

Christine stirred. Something unpleasant was pulling her out of a rather delightful dream, a strange, tightening sensation in her stomach… Her eyes flew open and she shot upright, her hands flying to her bump. The feeling faded, and she took a deep breath to steady herself. Christine switched on the bedside lamp and squinted at the clock. It was just after ten o'clock - she'd been asleep for hours. That probably explained the strange feeling in her belly, for she had missed dinner. She wondered if anyone had tried to wake her, and it was then that she noticed the small tray on the bedside table, along with a glass of water. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her head spinning a little, and picked up the glass, sipping it gratefully, before lifting the lid on the tray and seeing a sliced beef and salad sandwich along with a small bowl of strawberries. Unfortunately, all it did was make her feel queasy, so she replaced the lid and carried on sipping her water instead.

"Oh!" Christine dropped the glass to the floor as she bent over, her stomach cramping again, and it hit the rug and rolled under the bed, leaving a trail of water as it went. What was happening? She couldn't be in labour - it was months too early. That left only one thing in her mind, that something was very wrong. She tried to steady her breathing, but she was shaking, tears prinking at her eyes. She wanted to vomit, but she held it at bay as she managed to lean over and ring the service bell. She wanted Erik - oh, God, she wanted her husband! She'd sent him away, and goodness only knew where he was. He could be all the way over at Coney, alone in their suite in the hotel, miserable and angry at her. Quite rightly, too. Christine rang the bell over and over, knowing it would make no difference but unable to stop herself. She was frightened and upset and alone and needed someone, _anyone_, at that moment, to come and tell her everything would be all right. The cramp subsided, but it didn't make her feel any better, and when both Francine and Jane ran into the room, she sobbed helplessly. "The baby! Get the doctor - quickly!"

Jane, looking panicked, turned back the way she had come to run down to the phone in the lobby.

"Francine…"

"Madame, what's wrong?"

"I think I had a contraction - Francine, I'm scared…"

Francine helped Christine get back under the covers. "Madame, please, try and calm down. Take deep breaths."

"I want... I want Erik. Please, find him for me..."

"I will do, madame, but I'm not leaving you on your own at the moment. You must _breathe_..."

* * *

Erik's fingers stilled on the piano. He turned his head towards the door, certain he'd heard some sort of commotion. Unnerved, he jumped up and pulled open the music room door, running down the hall to the lobby, just in time to see Jane picking up the telephone.

"Jane! What's going on?"

"It's Mrs Muhlheim, sir - I'm calling the doctor. She-"

But Erik didn't hang around to hear the rest - he shot up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and as he did, he could hear the distressed sobbing of his wife. His stomach dropped, and he flew along the hall and through the bedroom door, pausing when he saw Christine crying into Francine's shoulder. She looked up, then, and choked on a sob, reaching towards him.

"Erik!"

He was by her side instantly, hands clutching hers. "Francine, could you please wait downstairs for Doctor Marlow?"

"Yes, monsieur," the maid nodded, rushing off.

"Christine…"

"The baby!" she sobbed.

"What's happened?"

"Con… contraction…"

Erik felt sick. This couldn't be happening. She had to be wrong, it had to be something else.

"I'm sorry, I'm so s-sorry…"

He shook his head. "Christine, it doesn't matter…"

"It does! I thought you'd gone - I thought you were at the hotel. I… I…"

"Shhhh, it's all right," he said, wrapping her in his arms and rocking her gently. "I went for a walk in the park and then came home - I wouldn't have gone so far away from you."

"It's all my fault - if anything happens to the baby it's all my fault!"

"No, my love, no - nothing is going to happen, you hear me?" But even as he said it, he wasn't convinced. However, he couldn't let his frightened wife know that.

"I'm so scared…"

"I know, darling, I know." Erik held her closer and stroked her hair, trying to help her calm down. He didn't let it show, but he was burning with rage - if _anything _happened to Christine or the baby… He closed his eyes, not wanting to think about it.

"W-where's Gustave? Is he all right?"

"He's fine. He's tucked up in bed, fast asleep."

He continued to rock her, and just as she was calming, finally, she let out a cry and bent over, clutching her stomach. Erik's eyes went wide, and he gripped one of her hands. Christine squeezed it tight, her head rolling against his shoulder as she sobbed.

"Make it stop, make it stop…!"

Erik wanted to cry as well. He wanted to scream and shout at the unfairness of it all. His eyes watered, and he gritted his teeth to keep the tears at bay. He had to be strong for Christine - he couldn't show her how terrified he was. He had to be her rock, or they would both be in danger of simply floating away. "Christine, breathe…"

"I… I can't…"

"Yes, you can."

"I can't!"

"Christine…" Erik took her face in his hands. "Look at me - you _can. _Come on, I'll do it with you." He breathed in deeply, out slowly, all the while keeping his eyes on hers, and she copied him, erratically at first, but eventually getting into a rhythm that helped to settle her.

There was a noise downstairs, and both Erik and Christine turned their heads towards the open bedroom door. Erik sighed in relief. "The doctor…"

Doctor Marlow, who had become the family's physician after Christine had been impressed and grateful with how he'd looked after her at the ball, appeared moments later, and Erik moved to one side as Marlow hurried over, although Christine kept a tight hold of his hand, refusing to let go.

"Mrs Muhlheim, let's have a look at you, shall we?" The doctor smiled kindly at her, and Erik was grateful for his professional yet soothing bedside manner.

Christine sniffed and took another deep breath. "I've been having contractions…"

Doctor Marlow nodded. "How often? How long do they last?"

"N-not long. About a minute, maybe. I've had three since I woke up."

"And when was that?"

"About half an hour ago. I woke up with one, had another only a minute or two after, and then there was a gap - the third has just passed."

"Anything earlier on in the day?"

"I felt a twinge just before I fell asleep."

The doctor took her pulse. "Hmmm. Mr Muhlheim, could you wait outside for a moment?"

"Oh, no, I don't want him to go!"

Doctor Marlow patted Christine's hand. "Mrs Muhlheim, I need to give you an examination. Doctors and patients only, I'm afraid, especially in this instance."

"But…"

Erik bent down to stroke Christine's cheek. "It's all right, my dear. I'll be just outside, I promise." He really didn't want to leave her, but he knew the doctor would insist, and he couldn't delay her examination, not when the baby could be at risk.

Christine nodded and reluctantly let go of his hand.

* * *

How bizarre, considering how women became pregnant in the first place, that men weren't allowed to stay. It was nothing that would have shocked him, he just wanted to be there for his wife. Although, as far as he knew, men didn't generally _want _to stay for these sorts of things, and especially not when it came to the birth. He, on the other hand, just wanted to help and comfort Christine when she needed it. However, it wasn't considered gentlemanly, and the doctor wouldn't allow it, so Erik waited, impatiently, for the best part of an hour. In that time, he didn't hear Christine cry out, and he prayed that all was well. Finally, the door opened and Doctor Marlow stepped out.

"Mr Muhlheim, both your wife and the baby are fine."

Erik closed his eyes and breathed a huge sigh of relief. "They are?"

Marlow smiled. "Yes. I'm sorry it took so long, but I had to wait a while to see if she had another contraction. There was a faint one about ten minutes ago, but it's nothing to worry about. They're irregular and they're certainly not getting closer together. Have you heard of Braxton Hicks contractions?"

Erik thought back to Christine's book - the term _did _sound familiar, but then, he hadn't read the whole thing properly. He decided that tomorrow, he would. "Sort of…"

"Well, to put it simply, it's false labour. It's the body's way for preparing for the birth, even at this this stage. Some women feel them even earlier, some only feel them very lightly, like a fluttering, and some not at all. But they're not proper contractions - those, unfortunately, are much worse."

Much worse? His poor wife…

"However, she is dehydrated, and her pulse and blood pressure are slightly elevated. I've put her on bed rest for the next few days, just to be safe. Just make sure she drinks enough, especially in this weather, and avoids stress. There does seem to be something bothering her, although she wouldn't say…"

"I'll talk to her. Thank you, so much. I was thinking the worst."

"Well, there is no need to, I assure you. Also, get her to eat something. She missed dinner and says the sandwich which was left for her made her feel nauseous, so try getting her to eat some dry toast, some fruit, and perhaps some peppermint tea would be useful to settle her stomach. Once she is out of bed, she is under strict instructions to not go rushing about."

Erik nodded. "I'll make sure she's well looked after."

Marlow smiled. "I know you will." He put his hand out, and Erik shook it. "I'll be back to check on her the day after tomorrow, after lunch - if you need me beforehand, don't hesitate to call."

"Thank you." Erik saw him out, then asked the cook to make Christine some toast and peppermint tea before returning to his wife. Christine was sitting up in bed, and she smiled at him as he approached and shuffled across so he could sit on the edge. He did so, and took her hand, pressing a kiss to it.

"Better?"

"Much."

"I've asked for some toast and tea to be brought up for you." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I was so worried…"

"Did Doctor Marlow tell you?"

"Yes. Honestly, pregnancy is terrifying. I feel for you."

She smiled. "It's not so bad all the time. For instance…" She took his hand and placed it against her bump. The baby kicked.

Erik chuckled and gave the bump a gentle rub. "That's certainly a perk, yes." He looked up at her, then, eyes full of sorrow. "I'm _so _sorry…"

"No," Christine said, shaking her head. "_I'm _sorry. I can't believe I ever doubted you. I don't know what came over me. I…"

"I know. I don't blame you - I know what you must have seen, how it must have looked from where you were standing. But, my darling girl, I would _never _do that to you. I'm yours, until my dying breath and forever beyond. I _love _you…" He put his head to hers, and Christine's breath hitched. Erik tipped up her chin. "Now, now, none of that - no more tears. You need to rest."

"I know. It's just… I know I've been a little over-emotional at times…"

"And that is _not _your fault."

"But I should have known. My darling, I should have _known…"_

"Christine, please, don't torture yourself over it. That little demon is the one at fault - God, if anything had happened to you, if you'd lost the baby…"

"Shhhh, we're both fine." Christine smoothed her hands over his shoulders. "I don't understand, though - why was she there?"

"I have no idea. She said she was with friends, but I think she just came to cause trouble. I don't even know how she knew where to find me, but believe me, when I find out…" Erik took a breath to steady himself. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, darling, don't be…" Christine kissed him, pulling him into her. "You're allowed to be angry. Just don't let it consume you."

Erik drew her into another kiss, let the feel and the taste of her soothe him. Arms wrapped about each other, they were completely lost in the moment until a knock at the door brought them back to Earth. They smiled at each other, everything forgiven.

"Come in!" Erik called out.

Jane entered with a tray and smiled kindly at Christine as she switched it with the one on the bedside table. "Here you are, ma'am. I hope it helps you feel better."

Christine smiled back at her. "Thank you, Jane."

"Just a second…" Erik lifted the lid on the old tray Jane now had and picked up the bowl of strawberries. "You need more than just toast," he explained.

As Jane left, Christine picked up the toast and pulled a face. "Dry."

"Would you rather have the beef sandwich?"

Christine pulled a different sort of face. "No, thank you."

Erik smiled. "Thought as much. Just eat what you can."

Christine managed the toast and a few strawberries, but only looked a little happier once she had the peppermint tea in her hands. Half-way through, she put it down.

"Could you help me to the bathroom? I fear I'm still a little weak."

"Are you feeling nauseous again?" Erik asked, jumping up. "I could fetch a bowl…"

"Mmmm, no, not nauseous…" she looked at him pointedly.

It took him a moment, and then - "Oh! Sorry." He helped her up.

Christine clung to him, a little unsteady on her feet. "Darling?"

"Yes?"

"Let's never fight again."

Erik kissed her hand. "I can't promise that, my love. Everyone argues, occasionally. But, certainly, not like today. We'll argue over silly things, like why you keep moving my music from the piano to the draw."

Christine laughed. "Because you leave it spread out on top and it looks untidy. It's a piano, not a table. Besides, I don't move the music on the music _stand._ If you want it left out, you should buy more stands to place around the room."

"But it's a _music_ _room_. Therefore, the music can stay wherever I put it. The _staff_ know to leave it where it is."

Christine smiled at him fondly and patted his cheek. "You know I'm going to keep moving it, don't you?"

Erik sighed in mock-annoyance, but was unable to hide his smile. "Yes."

She grinned and gave him a peck on the lips. "I love you."

"I love you, too."


	14. Chapter 14

**Wow, so many wonderful reviews! Thank you!**

**ChristmasJones - I've already picked first names for a girl and a boy, but thanks! :) I have to admit, the name Severine reminds me of 'Severus' and 'severe', but I do like Marie, so might use that for a middle name if it's a girl!**

* * *

Cecilia had been livid when she'd heard about what her shameless cousin had done, and, not thinking straight through pure fury, had extracted revenge on her, in a way not even Erik and Christine had thought of. That morning, at breakfast, nearly two weeks after the incident which had caused so much grief, Erik, as he did every day, picked up the newspaper he had been brought to read as he drunk his coffee… and nearly spat a mouthful all over the front page of The New York Times.

Christine looked up at him, startled, nearly spilling her tea. "What is it?"

Erik looked at her wide-eyed, then turned to Gustave, who was just on his last mouthful of breakfast. "Gustave, could you leave us alone for a moment, please?"

Gustave, who could tell from the tone of his father's voice that something was wrong and he wasn't to be argued with, shoveled the last of his eggs into his mouth and hopped down from the table. "May I go out into the garden to play?"

"Yes, my dear, of course," Christine replied with a smile, which stayed on her face until Gustave had left the room. Then she looked at Erik seriously. "Darling?"

Erik cleared his throat, and began to read out the following:

_A public apology, issued by Miss Caroline Wilkes, socialite cousin of Cecilia Vanderbilt and daughter of the respected retired sea captain, Ernest Wilkes._

'_I have done many things in my life I am not particularly proud of, but the biggest mistake of all happened just shy of two weeks ago, when I shamelessly threw myself at a married man, fully intent on breaking apart his marriage, for my own selfish gains. Jealous of his wife, who had done me no wrong, I set out to make him my own, foolishly thinking that, after he'd been so gracious to me upon our first meeting, it would be easy to turn his affections my way, to take me as his mistress. However, humiliation came when he spurned me, instantly, and I forced myself upon him, determined to have him. He did not give in, rightly furious at my behaviour, but unfortunately, at that moment, his wife walked in, and, of course, thought the worst. I want to apologise for the distress I caused. The man in question is completely devoted to the wife he so adores, and his wife is truly blessed. With great relief, their marriage has come to no harm. But that, readers, is not all. I have taken many a lover, become a mistress to many a willing married man. I have ruined the lives of many a wife. There are some, though, who are oblivious to the deceit that has befallen them. For their sakes, I hope it stays that way. I am ruined, damaged goods, and my promiscuity will now ensure that no well-respected man will ever want to marry me. I have brought shame upon my family, and it is through no fault of their own. I was raised to be nothing but respectable, and, by my own hand, became a disappointment. I hurt people, I cheat and I lie. I will settle, now, for a life in the country, away from my privileged life in New York and from the comforts I have grown so used to.'_

Christine folded her hands over her stomach and let out a long breath. "She wouldn't tell me what she was up to… I'm not sure how I feel."

Erik put the paper down and leaned across the table to grip one of Christine's hands. "It was her own doing. Remember what she almost caused, remember how she put our baby's life in danger…"

"Yes," Christine nodded. "Perhaps the country will do her good. Maybe she'll one day redeem herself. At least we won't have to see her again." She paused, briefly, clearly troubled. "Erik?"

Concerned, Erik left his seat to go and kneel beside her. He held her hands in his, thumbs stroking over the back of them. "What is it, my love?" She looked torn, in that moment, a struggle going on behind her eyes.

"Am I no better? Did I not come to you whilst engaged to another? Did I not trick him into raising your child? Did you not pursue me, years later, and did I not willingly follow?"

"Christine, _don't. _You are _nothing_ like her. Look at me - you cannot help who you love. Caroline has never loved any of the men she's lain with. She was out for one thing and one thing only. You and I - we were _meant _to be. Always."

"But I _married _him, Erik. I married him because I didn't want to be alone. I was perfectly willing to leave him. After that night, I didn't love him like I loved - _love _- you. I was scared and I didn't know what else to do. I tricked him. Even though I had affection for him, even though I did love him in some way, it was still wrong. Every time he touched me, every kiss, every… I only thought of you. I tried, for his sake I really tried, but… And then, when I realised, so suddenly, that our beautiful boy wasn't _our _beautiful boy at all, but was yours and mine, I was terrified. I wanted my son safe and provided for, to not be looked at with shame for being… _illegitimate. _So, I let Raoul carry on thinking…"

"Because you're a _mother_ - first and foremost, you're a mother. How can it be wrong to do everything in your power to protect your child? Any mother would do that same. Christine, please - you are _not_ Caroline. She has been with many, she doesn't care who she hurts, she doesn't show any remorse. But _you _care, too much for your own good, sometimes, and that is one of the reasons why I love you so. You care, and you're kind, and you didn't _want _to hurt Raoul. Caroline wants to hurt everyone. Now, as for me… Well, I did abominable things. Then you changed me and every day since I have been working towards redemption, and maybe Caroline will be able to work towards redemption, too, but, just like me, she needs to be punished first. She could have ruined us, our precious baby could have been lost if the stress caused to you had been prolonged… This is for the best."

Christine took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes." She rubbed her bump. "Our precious baby…"

Erik straightened. "Come to work with me, you and Gustave - spend some time by the sea; the air will do you good. We can have a picnic lunch on the beach."

"That sounds lovely." She smiled, and he returned it, bending to kiss her.

"Good."

"But first, I need to speak to Cissy."

"I know. We'll go when you're ready."

* * *

Christine cringed as she held the receiver to her ear. Bad timing had had her calling just as a very angry Caroline had turned up at Cecilia's house. She could hear her screaming for her cousin, could hear the staff trying to stop her from barging into where Cissy was.

"_I'm sorry, Christine, but I'm going to have to go before she wrecks my house. I was anticipating this, of course. But you're all right, aren't you?"_

"Yes, Cissy, I'm fine. I'm more worried about you at the moment."

"_Oh, don't be, my dear. She's nothing I can't handle. I'll see you tomorrow. Do take care, darling."_

"You, too."

The line went dead and Christine hung the receiver up. She let her head drop for a moment, then straightened up and went to get ready to leave. What was done was done. Now, she had to concentrate on staying calm and relaxed, for the baby, for herself, and for her husband and son.

* * *

The news spread quickly. Soon, it was all anyone was talking about. Caroline had become a joke, shunned from society. But Cecilia hadn't been completely cruel. She'd found somewhere for her cousin to live, working as a maid in a country estate. In the end, Caroline had had no choice but to go. Her family were in agreement with Cissy over the fact that she should leave the city, and had stopped her allowance, leaving her with little option but to work to survive. She'd screamed and cried and begged, but with her family ashamed of her and her friends turned against her, there was nothing she could do. Cissy had written her reference for her, had given her a new name – the family who owned the estate were kind; she could have done a lot worse.

Two months passed. In that time, Erik still hadn't found out who had directed Caroline to where he had been in the aerie. He'd questioned all of his employees, but no one had owned up to it, and, although he was desperate for it to be _someone _just so he could get it out of his head, he found that he believed every single one of them when they'd said it hadn't been them. Maybe, just maybe, she'd been hanging around for a while, watching, following him, biding her time. It wouldn't have surprised him. In the end, he let it go, partly because it was futile, and partly because Christine implored him to put it out of his mind, before he drove himself mad. So he had, genuinely so. How could he not, when he had so much more to concentrate on, so much more to give his energies to.

"Erik, darling?"

Brought out of his reverie, Erik blinked, and turned to face his wife. They had dined outside in the garden that evening. The weather was balmy, the day had been lazy… It had been perfect, in every sense of the word. Erik smiled at Christine knowingly, a twinkle in his eye. "Stuck, are we?"

Christine pouted at him unhappily. "Don't make fun of me – this is _your _fault."

"Mine?"

"Father's?"

Erik coughed. Christine pressed her lips together, her eyes a little wide. They really had to remember to watch what they said when Gustave was around – he might be bright, but he was still only eleven.

"Don't worry, dear, it's just a little joke between your father and I. Why don't you go and get washed up and then maybe we can play a game for a little while before you go to bed."

Gustave looked at them suspiciously, but got up from the table anyway. "You're rubbish liars," he said, as he walked off into the house.

Christine had to bite her lip to stop herself laughing until Gustave was out of sight. "Oh, goodness – if people could hear the way we speak sometimes they'd think us terribly undignified. We'd be banned from dinner parties."

Erik grinned. "That wouldn't always be a bad thing. There are some awfully dull people around. Anyway, where were we? Oh, yes – help?"

"Yes, please."

Erik held out his hands and Christine grabbed them. He pulled her up against him, her bump pressing into his stomach. She sighed.

"I can barely reach you now," she said, hands resting on his hips. "And I'm waddling, like a duck."

"Quack."

"Thank you – you're most amusing," Christine responded, dryly.

He chuckled. "Stop being so hard on yourself – you're eight months pregnant."

"Eight months pregnant and exhausted. If only it wasn't so unbearably hot. And my back is _killing _me."

"Oh, my poor darling – it won't be for much longer."

"Hmmm, you try being this huge and not complaining about it."

Erik gave his wife a quick kiss to placate her. "Come on, let's go inside and I'll rub your back for you."

"You will?" She looked suddenly tearful, then, and Erik put a finger to her lips.

"Ah-ah, none of that, Madame Muhlheim."

Christine shook her head and sniffed. "I'm fine." She smiled. "See?"

Erik led her inside and settled her on the sofa, where fell asleep almost instantly. He laughed quietly and brushed her cheek gently with his fingers. So much for that back rub.

"Papa?"

Erik turned towards the door. "Gustave - looks like it's just you and me."

Gustave smiled. "That's ok. Mama's been very tired lately."

"Yes, she has. What would you like to do? Something quiet, I think."

Gustave thought for a moment. "Chess?"

"Ah, yes, that will do nicely."

* * *

Christine fidgeted, turning from side to side in an effort to get comfortable, but it was no good. It was too hot, there was no breeze coming through the open window, her back was still aching and the baby had decided to start doing what she could only assume were somersaults. She propped herself up on her elbows and sighed. She was so tired; the short nap she'd had on the sofa had done nothing to make her feel better, and since going to bed she hadn't been able to sleep at all. Christine swung her legs round and sat up on the edge of the bed, hands going to her bump. "I know it's not your fault, little one, but your mama would really like to get some sleep."

"So would papa," a tired voice mumbled from next to her.

Christine turned to look at her husband, whose face was buried in his pillow. She looked at him apologetically, even though he couldn't see her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

Erik rolled over and smiled up at her sleepily. "Don't worry. I can't really complain when you're so uncomfortable."

"You have work tomorrow."

"I'll go in late. I am the boss, after all."

"But it's the last day of the season..."

"Christine..." Erik sat up beside her. "Don't fret."

Christine smiled softly and turned her head to face him. Her nose gently bumped his. In the dark, she could just see the twinkling of his eyes in the moonlight coming through the curtains. "I'm going to have to do something that some would deem terribly improper for a pregnant lady."

"And what would that be?"

"I'm going to take my nightgown off. It feels horribly irritating against my skin."

"Well, darling, you don't my permission to take your clothes off," Erik smirked.

Christine slapped his arm, trying not to smile.

"Do it, if it'll make you feel better. You know in private we don't stand on ceremony. I don't want you to suffer."

So she did, leaving the bed sheet pooled around her waist, and even though it offered only a small amount of relief, it was much welcomed.

"Better?"

"Mmmm, a little." She felt Erik shift behind her, and then his hands, his wonderful, soothing hands, were pressing into her lower back. She arched slightly, pushing into his touch. "Thank you..."

He dropped a kiss to her shoulder. "Just glad I can help."

Christine let out a small noise of amusement.

"What?"

"I was just remembering this book I read some years ago – it was passed around secretly between my girlfriends and I. Oh, what was it called... Ah! Sex Tips for Husbands and Wives. The main piece of advice was 'Give little, give seldom and above all, give grudgingly'."

Erik laughed.

"Yes, the reason I thought of it is because I'm sitting here naked with you rubbing my back, and it's all perfectly innocent, but, according to the lady who wrote the book, a wife should never tempt her husband into any kind of sexual contact by being naked around him, or letting him be naked around her. Men can't control themselves, are by nature perverted, and nothing that could be seen as a sign of encouragement should be attempted."

"Oh, well, she clearly knows us all too well," he said, still chuckling away. "Was there anything else a wife shouldn't do?"

"More than you could possibly imagine." Christine reeled off the tips she could remember: Nightgowns and pyjamas did not need to be completely removed for the 'act', putting as little flesh on display as possible. Men should not be given the chance to stray from having sex in the 'normal' position or be allowed to mouth the female body. Wives should permit sex only twice a week to begin with, keeping it brief, and reduce the frequency as quickly as possible by, for example, feigning tiredness and headaches. Sex should happen always in total darkness. Clever wives are always on alert for new ways of denying sex – arguments and nagging are very effective. Sex should be stopped altogether after about ten years, as this should be sufficient time to produce enough children. "Oh, and the best one was: 'She will be absolutely silent while he is huffing and puffing away, will be completely still and not groan or grunt'!"

They were both hysterical by this point. Erik was clutching his stomach and Christine was wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, the pair of them breathless and red-faced.

"Honestly, the way she _assumed_ that all women don't enjoy it."

"Maybe some men just aren't all that good at it," Erik grinned, looking a bit too pleased with himself.

Christine shook her head, smiling. "Don't get smug." Strong arms wrapped around her from behind, her husband's hands coming to rest on her bump, his chin on her shoulder.

"Never. Also, admittedly, while I'll never _not _want to gaze upon you, it's a bit presumptuous of her to assume that I'll not be able to control myself when your clothes are off, that I'd ignore your obvious discomfort for my own pleasure."

Christine put her hands over his. "Thank you for taking such good care of me."

"Well, I _did _sign a contract..."

She giggled. "Yes, you did."

Erik's hand smoothed over her skin. "Am I allowed to tell you how beautiful you look, sitting here like this, without being accused of trying to seduce you?"

"You may." Even thought she felt she looked huge, Christine knew she was luckier than some women – her bump was all to the front and quite neat. She hadn't spread out sideways or become horribly bloated. But, however she felt about her figure, she always knew that when Erik told her she looked beautiful, he was completely telling the truth, even if she did, on her more emotional days, accuse him of making it up to make her feel better. She smiled. "I think I might try sleeping again, now."

"Oh, good, I'm exhausted," Erik said, his tone teasing.

They settled back down. Christine reached out for her husband's hand, too hot to be held but still wanting some form of contact. This time, despite the occasional bout of restlessness, she slept.

* * *

The next evening, Christine, much to Erik's dismay, was rushing about and panicking whilst getting ready to leave for Phantasma's end-of-season show. He'd gone to work that day, as planned, but had come home early so he could escort Christine to the theatre, not wanting her to travel alone in her condition. He hadn't wanted her to come at all, would much rather she stayed at home and relaxed, but his wife had been resolute at being by her husband's side, and was also determined to see Meg's last performance of the year.

"Christine, you look stunning – you don't need to change."

"Are you _sure_?"

"Positively. And no," he held a finger up as she went open her mouth, "I'm not just saying that to get you to leave, although we do, in fact, need to leave, otherwise we _will_ be late."

Christine nodded. "You're right, of course. I'll just change my necklace and then we can be on our way." She hurried off, and Erik sighed.

Gustave, who was sat on the sofa reading a book, giggled. Erik looked at him. "It's not funny."

"It is a little."

"You're eleven, what do you know?" Erik said, as he ruffled his son's hair playfully.

Gustave laughed and fought his father's hand away. "Can I stay up later tonight?"

"Oh, I suppose so. Stargazing?"

His son nodded. "Yes," he replied, excitedly.

"All right, as long as you're in bed by ten-thirty. And I'll be letting Francine know on the way out, so no funny business – we have church in the morning."

"Yes, papa," Gustave sighed, pulling a face. Erik tried not to laugh.

"Ok, I'm ready. I think. Am I?"

Erik turned to his wife as she came back into the room, smoothing down her dress and fiddling with her earrings. "You're perfect," he assured, bouncing on his heels a little, impatient to get going.

Christine bent down to give Gustave a kiss, then, finally, allowed Erik to lead her out to the carriage.

Another triumphant season, over. Also, a year-to-the-day since he'd nearly lost the love of his life. He couldn't help but think of it. It had been mentioned, briefly, in the papers, but Christine had begged him not to focus on it, to instead focus on the fact that she was here, by his side. "Try to remember that it's been a whole year since we came back together," Christine had told him, and she was right, as always. A year since they'd been back in each other's arms. And soon, very soon, she would give birth to their second child.

He had an awful lot to be thankful for.

* * *

**Yes, boys and girls, that book I mentioned is a real book written towards the end of the Victorian era! Amazing.**

**Well, I think you can all guess what's coming next! Birth drama very soon...**


	15. Chapter 15

**Well, here it is, the big day! Sorry if it reads a bit frantic at times, but that was the pace I was going for, so it's entirely on purpose! I really hope it's ok - I've been over it and over it, changing bits here and there, and I think I've got it how I want it. I guess it's up to my lovely readers now to let me know :)**

* * *

Christine sighed happily. It was mid-September and the weather had finally turned milder - still very warm, but with a gentle, cooling breeze that made the days far more bearable.

Erik smiled down at her and brought her hand up to his mouth a press a kiss to it. They were walking through Central Park after having lunch at The Plaza, a place they now frequented often, relaxed and at ease, politely greeting people who greeted them as they passed and talking about everything and nothing.

The park looked glorious in the sunshine, the light making the water glisten, everything golden and hazy and comforting. A little dog ran past, yapping as it went after a stick, followed by a small boy who toddled after it, giggling as the dog picked up the stick and ran excited circles around him. Both Erik and Christine looked at the child, then looked at each other and smiled stupidly. Erik placed a hand on wife's stomach.

"Soon," he said, rubbing it gently.

Everything was ready. The nursery, as Erik had promised, was beautiful. The pram had been delivered a few weeks before, clothes and blankets and toys and all manner of things, some which Erik hadn't had a clue of and found quite confusing, (which, for a man regarded as a genius, was rather irritating), filled the house and now, they were missing just one vitally important piece to complete the puzzle - the baby.

"Ooh…"

"Christine?" In a flash, Erik had guided her onto a bench and was now crouching beside her, gazing at her anxiously.

Christine smiled and patted her bump. "Don't look so nervous, it's just one those Braxton Hicks contractions."

"You're sure?"

"Yes - I had one this morning as well."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"Darling…" Christine squeezed his hand. "It's nothing to worry about. The baby isn't coming yet. I think they just seemed so much worse last time because I was panicking and… Well. I didn't have them with Gustave - well, I might have, but I didn't feel them. But, trust me, they're nothing compared to the real thing. Yes, they're uncomfortable and they hurt a little, but that's all."

Erik scanned her face and, satisfied, joined her on the bench. "Sorry."

Christine laughed. "Don't be. And, when the time comes, I'll be fine, because I'll have that blessed chloroform to numb the pain, just as I did before. I have so much respect for all those poor women who had to manage without it before. Thank goodness for Queen Victoria alerting the world to that miracle drug. Doctor Marlow knows to bring it, although, there may be some in the kitchen. I shall check with Jane." She touched his face, gently. "Everything is all sorted, darling. When it's time, you'll know about it, trust me."

Erik turned his head and kissed the inside of her wrist. "You know, I don't think women are given enough credit."

"Yes, that's very true. But at least I have a wonderful, supportive husband." She yawned. "Time for a nap, I think."

* * *

When Erik awoke the next morning, earlier than usual, he could tell, straight away, that something wasn't right. Next to him, Christine whimpered in her sleep, her body tensing. That was when, as the sound of her made him more alert, he noticed that the bed was damp. Throwing the covers back, he sat up and saw what the problem was – Christine's waters had broken. Instantly, he went to wake her, but as he did, Christine cried out in pain and her eyes flew open. Disorientated, she reached out for something to grab, and Erik gave her his hand, his other arm going around her, helping her sit up.

"Breathe… It's ok, just breathe…"

"Erik…"

"I'm here, my love, I'm right here."

When the contraction had passed, Christine became more aware of her surroundings – first and foremost, the wet sheet she was sitting on. She looked down, pulling a face. "Oh…"

"Don't worry, sweet girl, it doesn't matter. Come on…" Erik helped her to sit round on the edge of the bed, rang the service bell, then fetched her a clean nightgown. He helped her to change, his brain going through a list of things that needed to be done, so focused was he that it took a moment for him to realise that Christine was calling his name.

"…Erik?"

Erik paused and looked at her.

Christine smiled and put a hand to his face. "It's time," she whispered.

It was time. Oh, God, it was time! Erik started to panic.

"Darling…"

"Right. You can't stay in this bed. We'll move you to the room down the hall-"

"_Darling_."

Erik took a deep breath. "Yes?"

Christine laughed softly. "Calm down. When I was in labour with Gustave it took hours. Oh, Erik - our _baby's _coming…"

"Our baby…" he smiled widely, unable to contain his joy. "Our baby!"

There was a knock at the door. Erik, suddenly remembering he was unmasked, hurried across the room and spoke through it rather than opening it. "Hello?"

"_Monsieur?"_

It was Francine. "Francine, the baby is coming – I need you to get Doctor Marlow." Through the wood, he heard a little gasp of excitement.

"_Right away, Monsieur!" _

Erik heard her scurry off up the hall, then quickly made himself decent, pulling on his robe, stepping into his slippers and fixing his wig and mask, all the while asking Christine every few seconds if she was all right.

"Yes, for the hundredth time I - AHHH!"

"Christine!"

"Oh, God, this one really hurts!"

Christine was rocking with the pain, but it didn't do any good. "Help me stand... I can't… I can't sit…"

"All right, all right…" Erik put an arm around her and carefully helped her up. "Better?"

"No!" She sobbed, her face burying into Erik's neck. "Where's the doctor?"

"He'll be here soon, my darling – he's only just been called."

"I don't care," Christine mumbled against him.

When it was over, he guided her over to the door and down the hall, walking slowly - they hadn't even got half-way before Christine screamed and gripped Erik's hand so tightly he thought it would break, but he didn't dare saying anything. Christine reached out to brace herself against the wall, sobbing and breathless, her whole body trembling as her contraction tore through her.

"Breathe, darling, breathe slowly…"

"I'm trying!"

"I know, I know you are…" He rubbed her back, feeling completely helpless.

"Mama?"

Startled, Erik looked away from Christine to see a scared looking Gustave staring at her wide-eyed. He tried to smile at his son, to offer him some comfort. "It's all right, Gustave. Go back to your room. Your mother will be fine."

"Monsieur, the doctor is with another patient, but I was told he would be here soon," Francine said, as she ran along the hall from the top of the stairs.

"Francine, please, see to Gustave."

"But, papa…"

"Don't worry. I'll come and get you soon, I promise. Please, be a good boy and go with Francine."

Gustave nodded unhappily and let himself be led away.

"Gustave…" Christine breathed.

"Shhhh, it's ok – Francine is with him."

"Did I scare him?"

"No, my love. He was just checking to make sure you were all right," Erik replied, as he helped his wife to straighten up. "Do you want to try walking again? I could carry you?"

Christine shook her head and took a step forward. "I don't know what's going on," she sniffed. "It took so long last time, and I was given the chloroform before it became too unbearable. I don't remember it hurting like this. It's happening too quickly! I feel sick…" she wavered a little, and Erik tightened his hold on her.

"We're nearly there, just hold on…"

* * *

Christine was frightened. It was all happening so fast and it hurt so, so much. Was this normal? Was the baby all right? She couldn't think. Erik, her darling Erik, was trying his best and was probably beside himself, but she had no way to comfort him. She just wanted it to all be over. She _wanted _the doctor and that sweet relief from the pain. She was sure that she was becoming quite delirious.

They got to the door of the guest bedroom, the first of three that had never been used as they hadn't yet invited anyone to stay, not knowing anyone outside of the city, and just as her husband had pushed open the door, that now familiar, but unwelcome, agony surged though her again. She yelled out again, tears pouring down her face, and there was also a pressure now that she instinctively knew meant only one thing.

"I need to push!"

* * *

Erik's eyes widened and in one swift movement, he'd picked her up and carried her the rest of the way to the bed, placing her down gently and brushing her hair away from her face. He was beside himself. He had no idea what to do, and he couldn't bear to see her suffering so greatly. Only days before, Henry Vanderbilt had been giving him advice about the birth, telling him that all he had to do was sit in the drawing room with a glass of brandy and a good cigar at the ready and wait it out. Certainly, he was sure that if Doctor Marlow had already been there, he would be telling him the same thing, and Erik might have gone grudgingly if that had been the case (although, he suspected he would have been pacing worriedly and certainly _not _relaxing with a stiff drink), but there was absolutely no way on Earth he was leaving his wife alone now, not even if the doctor turned up in time.

"Please… Please get the doctor… I need… I need the chloroform… And the baby can't come without him, it's not safe… "

Christine had requested a bottle of chloroform the night before, just in case, and it was to be fetched in the morning, but now was too early – the pharmacy wouldn't be open. He couldn't get her what she needed. He felt terrible and he was scared. She was so close and there was no one there. They had nothing that was needed for a birth, no doctor, not even a midwife.

"Ahhhhhh!"

No – he could do something; he _had _to. He thought of Christine's pregnancy book. Right.

"Darling, I need to leave you, just for a moment."

"No!" Christine sobbed, grabbing the front of his robe. "Don't leave me, please don't leave me!"

Erik grabbed her hands. "Christine, I'm going to get you some help, but you need to let me go, my love." He kissed her hands. "I'll be quick, I promise."

She let him go, reluctantly, and he flew out of the room and up the hall, pulling up short at the top of the stairs. "JANE! JANE!"

Seconds later, the maid came running into the lobby. He hadn't wanted to shout for her, but it was quicker than ringing the bell and having her come all the way up the stairs only to send her back down again.

"Sir?"

"Fetch towels and a bowl of warm water. The doctor is on his way but he won't get here in time – Christine needs help _now_. Ask any of the staff if they can help deliver the baby – quickly!"

From down the hall, there was another scream of pain. Erik rushed back and found Christine writhing on the bed, her hair damp, her skin glistening from the exertion of it all. He sat down and got her to lean against him, his arms going about her from behind, his hands clasping hers.

"I've got you, don't worry, I've got you."

Christine looked up at him. "I'm sorry…"

He frowned at her. "Whatever for?"

"I should have known yesterday. I really didn't think they were proper contractions. They were so irregular and I didn't think…"

"Shhhh, it doesn't matter. It's not your fault."

"But… but…" She cried against him, her breath catching in her throat. Then it hit her again. "Ahhhhhhhhhhh! I have to push, I'm sorry, I have to!"

Erik closed his eyes and prayed, but as he did, voices came floating through the door and he opened his eyes and saw Jane, followed by their cook, Mary, hurrying into the room.

"Oh, thank God!"

"Don't worry, sir – I helped deliver my sister's baby and my daughter's," Mary reassured, settling herself at the end of the bed, Jane placing the towels and bowl next to her. "Now, Jane is going to help me. Perhaps you'd like to wait downstairs, sir?"

"No!" Christine cried out.

Erik pressed a kiss to his wife's hair and shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere. I don't care what anyone thinks about that. Please, just help her."

They weren't going to argue with him and he knew it. He was also grateful. He'd always chosen his employees very carefully – he would never hire anyone he didn't trust.

"Of course, sir." Mary got Christine to bring her knees up a bit more, covering her lower half over with a sheet as best she could to protect her modesty. "Jane, be ready with those towels."

On the next contraction, Christine pushed. She cried out as she did, bending forward as she bore down. Then she threw her head back, panting. "It hurts!" she sobbed.

Erik could do nothing but rock her and soothe her in-between contractions. He felt completely useless.

"That's it, ma'am, I can see the head! You're doing really well," Mary encouraged.

Head? There was a head? Erik inwardly scolded himself. Of _course_ there was a head. It was all so real now. He blinked to clear his vision as his head swam a little and swallowed the lump in his throat.

Christine pushed again with all her might.

"The head's out!"

"You're doing so well, I'm so proud of you, my darling. You've been so brave. You're almost there…"

Christine rolled her eyes up to him and smiled tiredly during the brief respite, before her body tensed again. She was trembling all over, her muscles tiring from all the hard work.

"One more big push!" Mary cried. "You can do it!"

"I can't…"

"You can," Erik whispered in her ear. He pressed a kiss to her temple. In response, Christine crushed his fingers, and it took all he had not to make a sound.

Mary patted Christine's knee comfortingly. "I know it hurts, but it's nearly over. Come on – push!"

"Push, Christine!"

From downstairs, the welcome, sweet sound of a bell echoed through the house.

"The doctor! Jane, go, quickly!" Mary ordered, sending the maid on her way.

There was one final, unearthly cry from Christine as her body tensed, and then she fell back, panting breathlessly.

There was an ear-piercing wail. The world, which had momentarily blurred, came back into focus in one sharp jolt, leaving Erik winded.

"It's a girl!"

A girl? A girl… A girl! "A girl! Christine - a girl!" Erik laughed, utterly ecstatic and completely beside himself, and kissed his wife soundly on the mouth.

Christine smiled, her lip wobbling, and she burst into tears, but, this time, they were tears of joy.

"Christine, a daughter! Oh, my darling girl…"

But nothing could have prepared him for what happened next. When Erik had first found out that Gustave was his son, the love he'd felt for him was instant, like he'd suddenly been struck by lightning. It coursed through his veins and burned passionately and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, he wouldn't do for him. He was his everything, his unconditional, his life's purpose. However, even though the instant love for his daughter was no more or no less than it was for his son, he was hugely overwhelmed, because as soon as Mary held the little girl up to her mother and handed her over and he saw her for the first time, this tiny, pink, crying bundle of perfection that looked so fragile and helpless, he could do nothing but sob. It hitched in his throat as his vision became misty and his cheeks became wet. Their little girl, who would be all sweetness and giggles and peaches and cream, and everything else he'd ever dreamed for a daughter. And she looked just like her mother, with her dark hair and her little nose, and even though she hadn't opened her eyes yet, Erik knew they would be just the same as Christine's.

"Erik…"

Erik looked down at his wife who was beaming at him. She was exhausted, her face damp and her hair stuck to her skin, but she was glowing and beautiful and his heart swelled.

"Isn't she perfect?" Christine gushed, jiggling the baby in her arms, helping her to settle.

Slowly, carefully, because he was sure she would break if he touched her, he reached out and, with one finger, gently brushed his daughter's cheek. Her skin was as soft as silk. He'd never been near a baby before, let alone held one or touched one, and this was completely new and terrifying territory, but oh, it was thrilling.

At her father's touch, the little girl opened her eyes, these big, beautiful blue eyes, and Erik couldn't breathe. Then her hand came up to her face and when it brushed her father's finger, she instinctively gripped it. And that was it. He'd fallen completely and hopelessly under her spell. The love he'd felt for one child had been unbearable, but two children? He didn't even have a word for it. Erik rested his head against Christine's. "She's…" He couldn't speak, but he saw Christine smiling up at him and knew she knew what he was trying to say.

"Mrs Muhlheim, I am so sorry, I tried to get here as quickly as possible."

Doctor Marlow, looking apologetic, made his way straight over to her. Mary had left the cord uncut, clearly knowing, as soon as she'd heard the bell, that the doctor would prefer to finish up himself. Erik nodded at him, still not trusting himself to speak.

"Mr Muhlheim, could you-"

"-No." Ah, there was his voice. Sort of. "Forgive me, but no – I have been with Christine throughout, and I am not leaving now."

Doctor Marlow opened his mouth to speak, the closed it again. "Very well," he nodded, not sounding best pleased but not arguing. He got on with his job, praising Mary and cutting the baby's cord. Christine reluctantly handed her daughter over to the doctor so he could check her over. When he went to hand her back, satisfied that she was absolutely fine, Christine took the baby and immediately went to pass her to Erik.

"I… Maybe I shouldn't… What if I drop her?"

Christine smiled fondly at him. "You won't drop her, darling. Here, just support her head…"

Erik took her, carefully cradling her in his arms. He let out a small, breathy laugh. It was the most wondrous thing; he'd never known anything like it. He dropped a kiss to her forehead. "Hello, little one, I'm your papa, and this lovely lady here, is your mama." The baby fussed a little, and Erik rocked her. "Shhhh…"

"See?" Christine said, hugging his arm. "You're a natural."

Erik looked at her. "You were amazing. Absolutely amazing. I love you."

"And I love you. You were wonderful."

There was a cough from the end of the bed. They both looked up, having forgotten Doctor Marlow, Mary and Jane were all still in the room.

"I'm done," Marlow said, smiling now. "Congratulations. Does she have a name?"

Erik and Christine glanced at each other again. Christine smiled. "Emilie. Emilie Marie Muhlheim."

* * *

Christine, now back in her own bed, opened her eyes slowly after taking a well-deserved nap. She shifted, turning over, and was instantly met with the sight of her husband's back. He was kneeling on the floor by the baby's cradle. She could just see the side of his face, the unmasked side, could see the look of complete adoration he directed to the little girl in front of him. Her heart melted. He'd been her angel again today, watching over her, guiding her. She was quite sure she couldn't have done it without him. The pain had been incredible, but it had all been worth it. She sat up. "Darling?"

Erik jumped a little at the sound of her voice, and then turned to face her. "Sorry, my love, did I wake you?"

She shook her head. "No. Is Emilie all right?"

"She's fine, I just…" He sighed. "She's so little and so beautiful and I can't stop looking at her."

Christine slipped out of bed and moved over to him, kissing his cheek.

They sat in silence for a while, just staring at their daughter, peaceful smiles on their faces. After the doctor had left, Erik had taken Emilie to meet her brother, who had been beyond thrilled with his baby sister. Francine had helped Christine to wash and change, and then Emilie had had her first feed before Christine was left to rest for a while. The entire household were overjoyed, the atmosphere happy and excitable.

"You know that no man will ever be good enough for her, don't you?"

Christine laughed. "Yes, I do feel sorry for any boy who will have to get past you."

"I was worried, you know. Even though Gustave is fine, I thought… I was still worried there was a chance she…" He couldn't finish, but Christine knew what he meant. She'd thought it, too, but only in the sense that she was scared of how her daughter would be treated by the outside world. She didn't want her to have to suffer like Erik had, but she would have loved her and cherished her just the same as she did now. They would have dealt with it, even if it had meant moving away to keep her safe, to keep people from discovering that Erik, too, was the same, that it hadn't been some horrible accident at all. Erik's mother had been cruel, his _life _had been cruel, and Christine couldn't bear to think of an innocent child so unloved.

"It's all right. But even if she had, you know I would have adored her just the same, don't you? To us, she would have been perfect either way."

Erik squeezed her hand. "Of course, I'd never have doubted it. But it's such a relief that she won't have to suffer so. No one wants that for their child – no one sane, anyway," he said, sadly.

Christine kissed his cheek. "I'm so sorry, my love."

"Don't be. I have everything she never thought I would. I've proven her wrong. I have your love and the children's love, and that's all I'll ever need."

Emilie woke with a snuffle and started to whine.

"Are you hungry, little one?" Christine said, reaching to pick up her daughter. She gave Emilie a cuddle and carried her over to the bed. "When I'm done, could you fetch Gustave for me? I've missed him today. Also, I'm feeling a little hungry myself…"

"I'll have something brought up to you. Anything in particular?"

"A sandwich, perhaps, nothing too heavy. And…"

"…Lemonade?" Erik finished for her, looking amused.

Christine grinned. "If you would be so kind." She watched him leave, chuckling to himself, then looked down at her daughter, who was suckling happily. She held one of her tiny hands and stroked the back of it with a finger. She couldn't believe how blessed she was. Her beautiful family. They might be a little unconventional and do things not expected of a family of their position, but they were happy, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

It had been a relief, after his daughter had been born, to take a few moments in private to remove his mask and wipe his face, cleaning away his tears and blowing his nose. The mask had been made to feel comfortable, but it didn't quite work as well when being cried into. The rest of the day, though, it had been firmly back in place. Erik never expected Christine to question it, but she did.

"Darling?"

Erik, who was rocking Emilie in his arms and singing quietly to her, looked up at his wife questioningly.

"I think you should take your mask off."

He blinked, looking confused. "Why? It'll only frighten her."

Christine put a hand on his knee and explained. "No, it won't. Emilie is completely innocent. She knows nothing of the world yet. If she sees you now, before she sees too much of everyone else and her brain works out that you look different, it'll never bother her - by the time she _has _worked it out, she will already be used to it. Erik, this is your chance to have someone never judge you on what you look like, and just think – she'll go out into the world, and if she sees someone just like her papa, she won't think any different. Isn't that wonderful? Think of what she could do. I'm not shocked anymore – I haven't been since before I last saw you in Paris - and neither is Gustave, but I'm ashamed that I once was, that I hurt you so, that I'd been so conditioned by society that my automatic response was to fear you. Let her see the real you, her father, the man who deserves not to have to hide."

Erik thought for a moment, his gaze going back to the baby. She was staring at him with those beautiful eyes, completely trusting. Maybe Christine was right. It made sense… He took in a deep breath and nodded. Cradling Emilie with one arm, he used his free hand to remove his mask. He held his breath. Nothing. She was still looking at him in exactly the same way.

Christine cleared her throat and looked at him pointedly.

Off came the wig as well. Emilie stared at him a moment longer, then let out a tiny sneeze. Erik laughed delightedly and held his daughter up in front of him, close to his face. He glanced at Christine happily. "You were right, of course. This is…" He laughed again.

Christine smiled brightly at him and pressed a kiss to his scarred cheek.

"Thank you," Erik said. He felt as though his heart would explode. "Although, I don't want her being scared of the mask, if she gets used to me like this. When we're with other people…"

"Then that is what she'll be used to. Take it on and off in front of her. She'll learn, my love. She might ask, one day, why you don't always leave it off, but we'll explain that when the time comes."

Emilie yawned and put her fist in her mouth.

"I thinking we're boring her more than anything," Erik chuckled, bringing her back down into the crook of his arm.

"Yes, you might be right. We should put her to bed."

They both had one last cuddle and then put Emilie back in her cradle. They settled in bed, Erik bringing Christine into his arms. He kissed her head.

"How are you feeling?"

"A little… _uncomfortable. _But, it won't be forever. No, what I really have to worry about is getting no sleep until she starts to go through the night, and in that case, what _you _need to worry about, is a grumpy wife. You don't have to wake up and feed her every few hours."

"True. I suppose…"

"What?"

"Well, we could always get in a wet nurse for the night feeds."

Christine shook her head. "No. No wet nurse. I had one with Gustave and I couldn't bear it. He was _my _baby, mine to look after and nourish. She only lasted a day. It must be so confusing for those poor children, going from one woman to another. Besides, there are women far worse off who don't even have that option. I will feed my own child, like I should."

Erik smiled at her fervour. He knew she'd hate the idea, but he'd wanted her to know that he wouldn't mind if she wanted to take that option, just to get some rest (well, that wasn't completely true – he _would_. The concept was strange to him, but if it helped Christine, he would have agreed). He planted a soft kiss on her lips. "My brilliant wife."

She grinned. "Of course."

Erik reached over and switched the lamp off. There was a brief moment of silence, then: "Do you think she'll be all right in the dark? Should we leave the light on?"

Christine hugged his arm. "She'll be fine, darling."

And she was, until she started crying a couple of hours later. Erik sighed. This was going to be a long night.

He wouldn't change it for anything.


	16. Chapter 16

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! Thank you for your kind words.**

**There's a guest review I'd like to reply to: Dear guest reviewer. Obviously I can't PM you, so I'll just have to hope you're still reading and see this here. I understand what you're saying (I'm not one of those who is going to get mad over a bit of criticism, don't worry!) and I know, when writing a review, no one really thinks that there might be a reason (I've done it myself), but there is. I did think about writing in a miscarriage, but having gone through one myself, I found it too difficult and upsetting. Even suggesting that she might have one was hard enough. As for everything else, it isn't uncommon at all for families to just go through life with few major ups and downs and be mostly happy (I know plenty of them), some are just lucky. I also think Erik and Christine deserve a bit of happiness after everything. _But, _I do realise that they're not your average family, and actually, I _do _have something planned, but the story did need to get to this point first (I do like to lull people into a false sense of security), and the first inkling that something is on it's way is in this chapter. It did take a little longer than I'd intended, but having a long-term illness which has an effect on my concentration and energy levels, it's easier and less tiring for me to write something that's relatively simple. I really need to take a lot of time to think about how I'm going to write things going wrong and just what exactly it will be that does (it's a lot harder for me to write that type of story-line in terms of concentration), otherwise I won't do it justice. So, while I've been writing all these other chapters to keep the story moving along, I've been researching, when I can, other things and thinking about how I want it to come together. So, yes, I had my reasons, but I'm sorry you got a little bored (that's genuine, not sarcastic!). I hope you stick with it to find out what's coming, and thank you for praising my writing! I always think it's awful because I'm so tired, so it's nice to know it's not :)**

**Sorry, that was a bit long-winded! I haven't had a great few days health-wise, so this chapter is a little shorter than I would have liked, but I hope you enjoy it anyway :)**

* * *

"Gustave, come down from there before you fall!"

"I'm not going to fall, mama!"

"Leave him be, my love - he's just doing what boys do. Besides, he's not up that high."

"But if he breaks something… Oh, Erik, do go and keep an eye on him, please - I don't want to have to spend the rest of Christmas Day at the hospital because of broken bones."

"All right, all right…" Erik wandered over to where his son was now sitting on a branch of the tree he'd just climbed, looking at him apologetically.

Gustave pulled a face at him. "Papa…"

"I know, son, but your mother worries about you. You do need to be careful, though. Broken bones are painful."

"Have you ever broken something?"

"A finger, when I was a child. I was very lucky not to have broken anything else. I've had a few nasty sprains…"

"How did you get them?"

"I…You know what? I can't remember," he lied. Nothing was going to make him tell his son about the pain and suffering he'd gone through when he was younger.

"Because you're old?" Gustave grinned cheekily and Erik laughed, grabbing him and lifting him out of the tree. Gustave cried out as he went over his father's shoulder, giggling hysterically. "Put me down!"

"No!"

"Papa!"

"What are you two doing?"

Erik, who was spinning his son round in circles, stopped and faced his wife, his faced flushed, much the same as Gustave's was, who was still hanging upside down over his father's back. Erik righted him and put him down, the two of them still grinning from ear to ear, breathless and letting out small gasps of laughter.

Christine smiled and shook her head. "I can't leave you two alone for even a minute, can I?"

"He called me old," Erik complained, although he looked anything but annoyed.

"Oh, darling," Christine said, going over to rub her husband's arm sympathetically. "Don't worry - you're not _that _old."

"You're making fun of me, aren't you?"

"Not at all," she replied, a twinkle in her eye.

"Hmmm…"

From behind them came a cooing noise. Erik walked over to Emilie's pram and looked down at her, a hand rubbing her belly through the blankets she was under. "_You_ don't think your papa is old, do you, little one?"

Emilie gurgled and smiled at him. Erik stared back at her lovingly. He adored that smile. He remembered the first time he saw it, just over a month before…

_It was a cool, early November day, and Erik was walking around the garden with his daughter, showing her the trees, pointing out the jewel-coloured leaves and kicking the piles of crisp, crunchy ones on the ground so the sound would pique her interest. Autumn had come late that year, the mild weather lasting longer than usual, but now the leaves had turned and in the sunshine, made the trees look as though they were on fire. Emilie gurgled a little and as Erik looked away from the red leaf he was showing her and smiled at her, she copied him, offering a gummy one in return, her eyes wide and bright. Erik's breath caught in his throat._

"_Did you just smile?" He stared at her, and there it was again, those little Cupid's lips opening and pulling upwards. Erik laughed and, overjoyed at her milestone, rushed back into the house with her. "Christine? Christine!" He found his wife on the sofa in the living room, concentrating on her embroidery._

_Christine put her work to one side, standing as he hurried over to her. "What is it?"_

"_Look… Emilie, do it again, smile for your mama…"_

"_She smiled? Oh…" Christine beamed at her daughter and tickled her stomach and sure enough, that gummy grin broke out again. "Oh, my clever girl!"_

"_Isn't it one of the most beautiful things you've ever seen?" Erik said, kissing the top of his daughter's head. _

_Christine stroked Emilie's cheek. "It certainly is. She smiles just like Gustave did."_

_Erik sighed. "I wish I'd seen it."_

"_You just did," Christine said, hugging his arm._

_Emilie smiled again, the newly discovered action and the response it drew from her parents entertaining her. _

"_Did you enjoy your walk outside with your papa? Did you like all the pretty colours?" Christine cooed at her, taking her from her father so she could give her a cuddle._

"_Well, she looked interested, but she might have just been being polite."_

_Christine laughed. "I'm sure that wasn't the case."_

"_I'm not so sure - nearly eating that leaf was surely a sign that she'd had enough."_

"_What?"_

_Erik grinned. "_Nearly_, __I said."_

"_How did she _nearly _eat a leaf?"_

"_Um, I may have been standing a little too close to the tree and she may have leaned forward and opened her mouth…"_

"_Erik…"_

"May_, I said."_

_Christine shook her head. "Are you hungry, darling? Did papa not notice?"_

_Erik frowned grumpily and sat down on the sofa. "She wasn't fussing."_

"_She doesn't always need to be," Christine said, joining him. She smiled. " Don't look so put out. Your daughter just _smiled _at you."_

_He cheered up again at that. "Yes, yes she did. My beautiful little girl…"_

Erik turned to Christine, shaking himself out of his reverie. "See? At least _someone _is on my side."

He had never thought that much about getting old. He _wasn't _old, but he wasn't young, either. He_ used_ to think about it, but then a certain young soprano had captured his attentions and then _she_ had become the only thing on his mind. Now, of course, he had the children, and they helped to make him feel younger, but it wasn't until about a month before Emilie was born, when Christine had forced him to celebrate his birthday, something he had never done before, that he'd been made truly aware of the years that had passed (the only thing he'd ever been aware of, before she'd come back into his life, was the huge gap where Christine should have been). Truth be told, he'd actually enjoyed it once he'd let himself, but it had still felt odd. His mother had refused to give him a hug for his birthday when he'd asked, and he could still remember how much that had hurt, how humiliating it had been. This time, though, after many years of forgetting he even _had _a birthday, he'd had lots of hugs and kisses and been truly spoiled.

Christine shook her head, amused. "Come on, I think we should make our way home. The sun will set soon and it's getting colder."

They carried on waking through the park, Gustave running a little ahead. A few minutes later, Christine stopped abruptly and Erik walked into the wheel of the pram, letting out a gasp of pain.

"What's wrong?" he said, bending down to rub his shin.

Christine said nothing, continuing to stare a little to the left of where she was standing. Erik looked ahead, but through the people milling about, he couldn't tell who she was looking at.

"Christine?"

Christine blinked and turned to him. "Sorry, I… I thought I saw someone…"

"Who?"

"I… No one. Just someone from the ballet back in Paris, but I was mistaken. Are you all right? I'm sorry," she said, looking at him apologetically. "Does it hurt?"

"No, no, it's fine, I'll live. Come on, I think a cup of steaming hot chocolate is calling us."

"Mmmm, yes, and I know Gustave is dying to play charades."

"Oh, no…"

She laughed. "Oh, yes." They carried on their way, but Christine couldn't help but look about her as they went.

* * *

Erik was sitting up in bed reading when Christine came in, but it wasn't until she was standing at the end of the bed that he noticed that she hadn't brought Emilie in with her, the child's cradle empty.

"Where's the baby?"

Christine said nothing, but she was smiling. And it wasn't any smile - it was seductive, her eyes boring into his. Erik's brain scrambled and he swallowed, unable to look away from her.

Very slowly, Christine loosened the knot of her dressing gown, then pushed the garment back from her shoulders. It slipped off of her easily and pooled at her feet.

Erik's mouth went dry. She was completely naked, her hair loose and falling in tendrils about her, and every part of him burned, leaving him breathless as he watched her, beautiful and tempting, crawl across the bed towards him. They hadn't been together in this way since before Emilie was born – Erik had been worried about tiring her further as she was already exhausted by all the night feeds, and also knew that she'd felt a little down about her appearance, even though, from what he could tell, she'd regained her shape pretty quickly (those wretched corsets). But he'd never found her any less attractive – she'd carried his children, and he loved her all the more for it.

Christine stopped when she was nose to nose with him and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. Erik, who was still holding his book in one hand, let it slip from his grasp.

"She's in the nursery," Christine whispered, moving to straddle his lap and wind her arms around his neck. "We have a while. I've missed you…" She kissed him again, pulling his bottom lip between her teeth and rocking against him.

Erik sighed heavily into her mouth, his hands settling on her waist and his fingers digging into her flesh. "Christine…" He skimmed his hands up her back and kissed her deeper. "Are you sure?" he managed to ask, fast losing the ability to speak coherently.

"Yes," she murmured against him, deft fingers moving to undo the buttons on his pyjama shirt.

Erik moved his lips to her neck, kissing along it. "Beautiful…" he breathed into her ear, feeling the bumps rising on her skin as she shivered beneath his touch. "My Christine…"

Afterwards, as they lay there breathless and flushed, they were afforded about two minutes peace in each other's arms before a cry from across the hall reached their ears. Erik chuckled before squeezing Christine tight and letting her go.

"Well, that didn't last as long as I'd hoped," she sighed, slipping out of bed and reaching for her dressing gown. "Mind you," she smiled, "when I get back…"

Erik grinned at her.

* * *

The next day brought the wedding of Laura Bingham and Albert Sinclair. It was bright, although freezing, and there was a buzz in the air, excitement between the family and friends of the bride and groom. The church was packed, and as Christine looked around, she wondered, aside from the obvious, how many of these people actually knew each other and, indeed, how many the bride and groom actually knew.

"Regret our little wedding?" Erik asked, grasping her hand.

She smiled up at him. "Not one bit."

The ceremony was beautiful. Laura was resplendent and Albert couldn't have looked any prouder. After the service, as they left the church, Christine heard a familiar voice calling out to her.

"Christine!"

"Cissy!" she replied, happily, embracing her friend. "I couldn't see you when I came in."

"We were running a little late, only just made it in. Darling, you look wonderful! Wasn't it a lovely service? And how are _you_…" Cissy cooed at Emilie, who was sitting in her father's arms. She tapped the little girl on the nose and Emilie smiled. "And young Gustave, how handsome you look."

"Hello, Mrs Vanderbilt."

"Erik," Cissy said, kissing his cheek, "pleasure as always."

"And as always, the pleasure's all mine."

"Christine, your husband is always so charming."

"And where's _your_ husband?" Erik asked.

"He's…" Cissy turned and scanned the crowd. "I lost him back there somewhere. Tell you what," she reached for Emilie and Erik passed her into her arms. "Would you be a dear and go and find him for me? He's more likely to let you drag him away than me."

"And that doesn't mean you can disappear, too," Christine said, warningly. "We have a reception to get to."

Erik looked at her innocently. "Would I?"

She laughed. "Yes!"

* * *

"Care to dance, Madame?"

"Why, I'd be delighted, Monsieur."

Erik swept Christine up in a waltz.

"Why are you grinning like that?" Christine asked, looking at him suspiciously.

"Grinning?" he replied, as he moved her around the floor.

"Yes…"

"Oh. Well…" he leaned in close. "I might have just been thinking about last night…"

"Erik!" Christine giggled. "Not here."

"Madame, are you suggesting I would be improper in public?" Erik asked, his eyes sparkling. "Besides, you did ask."

"Why, I would never suggest anything of the sort… And yes, I suppose I set myself up for that one."

As they continued to dance, Christine began to feel uneasy. As she glanced about the room, she was sure she'd seen someone staring at her from a doorway on the opposite side, but they'd turned and walked out before she could really look at them. It had been just a flash, but she couldn't help but think back to who she thought she'd seen in the park the day before. She tried to clear her head. She'd been so tired recently, as was expected with a newborn. Maybe she just needed to rest more – exhaustion was clearly making her see things that weren't there. However, that nervous feeling wouldn't leave her and as hard as she tried, she couldn't shake off the impression that someone was watching them.

Of course, it wasn't long before her husband noticed her change in mood.

"Christine? What's the matter?" Erik asked, bringing them to a stop.

Christine shook her head and tried to smile convincingly at him. "Nothing, darling, why do you ask?"

He frowned at her, clearly not believing her. "You look like you've just seen a ghost." He took her chin between finger and thumb, tipping her head back slightly so he could examine her face better. "Are you feeling unwell?"

She laughed, although it was forced. Erik's expression didn't change. She sighed. "I'm sorry, I'm just a little tired, that's all."

He seemed to be satisfied with that, and she relaxed.

"I'm not surprised. We could leave, if you like?"

"No, no, I'll be fine. I might just go check on the children, though. Why don't you go and find Henry, have a drink with him?"

"He's dancing with Cissy," Erik replied, nodding towards the couple, a mixture of amusement and confusion on his face. "Christine, are you sure you're feeling all right? I may have to insist on taking you home…"

"I'm _fine_," she promised. "Honestly. I just have to feed Emilie soon and I thought you might prefer to spend some time with the boys, that's all."

Erik squeezed her hand. "Ok. Just promise me you'll sit for a while, then. Let Francine take care of Emilie after you've fed her and just sit and rest. Or even give her to me – you know I'll happily take her."

"I don't want her surrounded by alcohol and smoke, thank you very much."

"She won't be – I know how to look after our daughter," Erik replied, sounding a little offended.

Christine sighed. "I'm sorry; you know I wasn't implying that. You're right – I do need to rest." She smiled at him wearily and he kissed her wrist in response. He wasn't angry at her, just worried.

"Go on, then – I'll come and check on you in a little while. But, if you want to leave, we can go at any time, just say."

"I will."

* * *

Christine did indeed feel a little better after taking some time for herself. After feeding Emilie and checking on Gustave, she'd gone for a stroll outside, the brisk air waking her up a little, and she'd sat for a while, looking up at the sky, which had begun to cloud over and threaten rain. She made her way inside just before the Heavens broke, and was immediately accosted by the new Mrs Laura Sinclair, who looked somewhat distressed, Albert coming up behind her.

"Christine! Oh, there you are – I've been looking for you everywhere."

"Laura, whatever's the matter?"

"Where's Erik?"

"I'm not… Oh!" Christine exclaimed, turning round and nearly bumping straight into her husband, who had Emilie in his arms. "Where did you spring from?"

"I saw you come in. What's wrong?" Erik asked, seeing the anxious faces of Laura and Albert.

"Over here," Albert said, ushering them to quieter corner of the room, only speaking when he was sure they had enough privacy. "I am so sorry…"

"Whatever for?"

"Oh, Christine, I swear we didn't invite him," Laura gushed. "We don't even know him, he came with a guest my parents invited and I have no idea who she is, either!"

"Darling, calm down," Albert said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Christine's stomach knotted. Could it be? Could her eyes not have been playing tricks on her after all? She stared at Erik, who seemed to be thinking along the same lines as her, looking at her anxiously. Of course – who else could it be? "Laura, who-"

However, Christine was cut off before she could finish. From behind where the small group was huddled, a familiar voice spoke up.

"Well, isn't this a surprise?"


	17. Chapter 17

**More lovely reviews! Thank you so much - it means a lot that you're enjoying it, still :)**

* * *

When it came to her, Christine had no reason not to trust this man. She'd known him from childhood and despite what he had become, he had always loved her. He'd let her go, set her free because it was what was best for her. So why, now faced with him once again, did she feel only dread? Coincidence, surely, but even so, she felt very, very peculiar. Her breath caught in her throat and it took a moment, while everyone just stared at him, for her to find her voice. When it did come, it little more than a shocked whisper.

"Raoul…"

Raoul smiled, though it wasn't entirely pleasant. Christine held her breath - what was he going to say? She could feel Erik tense beside her. Laura and Albert looked as though they weren't sure whether to stay or run.

"Christine - you're looking well. It's good to see you, truly." He glanced at Erik. "Monsieur _Muhlheim._"

"_Vicomte,_" Erik replied, his voice dangerously low.

"I believe congratulations are in order - twice." Raoul looked at Emilie somewhat bitterly, and the little girl, sensing the change in mood and confused by the unhappy face before her, fussed and pressed her face into her father's neck. Automatically, Erik held her tighter, his hand stroking the top of her head.

"Thank you," Christine said, her voice betraying how nervous she was.

"Erm, Albert Sinclair," Albert said, holding out his hand to introduce himself and also remove Raoul's death-glare away from Erik.

"Oh, of course, forgive me - congratulations on your marriage," he said, shaking Albert's hand before moving onto kiss Laura's. "Mrs Sinclair."

"Albert, why don't you and Laura have a dance?" Erik said, his eyes never leaving the Vicomte.

Albert looked at Erik, his expression asking if his friend was sure, and Erik, sensing his eyes on him, turned and nodded. Albert put a hand on his shoulder, then steered his wife away, Laura's hand giving Christine's a quick, reassuring squeeze as she went.

"So," Raoul said, rocking on his heels a little. "Married with a baby. Out and about in public. _Friends…_"

"Raoul, don't…"

"What are you doing here, Vicomte?"

"Well, it was just by accident, really. I escorted a friend, a lovely American woman I met in Paris a few months ago - yes, it turns out that they're not all vulgar - at her request. Well, at her parent's request, really. Her father is General Carter - have you heard of him?"

"Vaguely," Erik replied, quietly seething. Christine knew he wouldn't lose his temper here, especially not with Emilie in his arms, but the contempt in his voice was terrifying.

"Yes, well, he and his wife couldn't make it, so they sent their daughter, Margaret, instead. We've become quite close."

Christine wasn't sure how she was supposed to respond to that - if it was to make her jealous, it wasn't working. Why would it? If Raoul was happy, if he'd sorted himself out, then she was glad - he deserved it.

"Well, Vicomte, good for you. Now, if you'll ex-"

"Papa! Papa, can I…" Gustave, who had come rushing up to his parents out of nowhere, stopped short when he saw Raoul standing with them. He looked up at him wide-eyed and more than a little resentful.

Raoul smiled, genuinely this time, and bent down towards the boy he'd spent so long calling his own. However, Gustave recoiled, hiding behind his mother's skirts.

Raoul's smile quickly turned to a frown. "Gustave…"

Christine, sensitive to her son's upset and knowing exactly the reason for his reaction, turned and placed a hand on her husband's arm. "Darling, please could you take the children and give me a minute alone with Raoul."

"I don't think-"

"_Please,_" she pleaded, looking at him desperately, "just a minute."

Erik nodded, although he looked anything but enamoured with the idea. "Fine. Come along, Gustave," he said, holding his hand out for him. His son took it without question and didn't glance at the man he'd once called father once as he we was willingly led away.

"Sorry about that, but what did you expect? He wrote to you twice enquiring as to how you were and you never wrote back."

"I didn't think it appropriate. It was better for him to just forget me."

"But you think it appropriate to speak with him now and expect him to embrace you with open arms? And how was he supposed to just forget you, exactly? The man he'd spent ten years calling 'father'?"

"I'm sorry, I am. But, for goodness sake, Christine," Raoul growled, turning on her. "Is this really acceptable, how you and… _him _are behaving?"

Christine raised her eyebrows at his audacity. "I _beg _your pardon?"

"I _gave _you to him, Christine-"

"_-Gave?_"

"-and I assumed you would live a relatively quiet life, singing on the Island and keeping yourself to yourself, for your own good. And then, as with every piece of news about you does, word reaches Paris of Christine Daae and her poor, wounded fiancé. _Acid? _Really, Christine? And then you're getting married, and then you're_ pregnant_!" He shuddered, clearly repulsed. He shook his head. "Pregnant. Well, clearly the problem lies with me. We tried for so long, remember? Tried to give Gustave a sibling, and then _he…"_

"Shhhh! Don't," Christine snapped at him, worried someone would hear them, her eyes blazing. "Don't you _dare. _We're _happy, _Raoul. And why shouldn't we live a normal life? Is it so difficult to imagine that, given the chance, Erik could integrate himself into society? You don't know him, Raoul - you don't know how hard he's worked to redeem himself, you don't know that above all, all he ever wanted was love and acceptance, and if we've found a way to do it, then why shouldn't he have that? All you see is a monster, but you don't know what he went through, how broken and hurt he was. I'm not making excuses for the way he behaved in the past, but he's a different person, now - he's a wonderful husband, a loving father and a dear friend. It's who he was _meant _to be."

Raoul shook his head and laughed humourlessly. "I do believe, my dear Christine, that you've lost your mind."

How he infuriated her! Christine glared at him. "How can you be like this? You walked away, you let me be, and you annulled our marriage so that I could be with Erik without shame. I don't understand why you're being so cruel. I know you don't like him, but for me – can't you just be civil? In public, at least. I thought you'd changed, that you were getting better." Christine glanced around, anxiously. "People are beginning to stare."

"I _have_ changed," Raoul retorted, ignoring her. "I only drink occasionally and I no longer gamble. And, if you must know, I still care very much for you. You know I always will."

"Then stop this," Christine implored. "If you care for me, then stop this vendetta you have against Erik."

"_Don't _call him that. For so long he was just the 'Opera Ghost', a monster, and now he has a _name_? You make him sound almost normal."

There was loud, cracking sound. It was like a lightning strike, a tree splitting in two. It was only when Christine felt the sting spread through her hand that she realised what she had done. In front of her, Raoul nursed his cheek in shock, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open uselessly. But, it didn't matter, because she was furious. However, before she could launch into a tirade against him, a hand shot out of nowhere and pushed Raoul up against the wall by his throat. Gasps from the now assembled crowd echoed around them.

"What. Did. You. Say. To. My. _Wife_?" a voice snarled, and Christine turned to see her husband staring murderously at Raoul, who was struggling against his grip, their faces almost touching. But, before she could say anything, a pair of hands gripped Erik's shoulders and gently, but firmly, pulled him away.

"Leave it, Erik, he's not worth it," Henry Vanderbilt said, eyeing Raoul distrustfully as the Vicomte coughed and caught his breath. Erik shrugged his friend off, but he didn't lash out again.

"Darling…" Christine breathed, placing a hand on his arm.

"Leave_. Now_."

Raoul gave an amused snort. "I don't think it's up to you to be ordering people around. I was _invited._"

"You most certainly were not," Albert, coming up behind Henry, shot at the Vicomte. "You are a guest of a guest and my wife and I don't know either of you. Now leave, before I have you removed."

Raoul looked at the three men in front of him, his expression one of anger and humiliation. "Fine."

As he went, Christine ran after him, ignoring the stares from curious guests.

"Christine!"

She ignored her husband's call, wanting to know one last thing. "Wait! Why did you come over? You must have known what would happen – what were you thinking?"

Raoul shrugged. "I suppose I just wanted to see you again. Silly mistake. By the way," he smiled, though it was decidedly sinister, and Christine felt her skin prickle. "Keep an eye on the front page of the papers." With that, he spun on his heel and left.

Christine felt winded. She put a hand to her throat and swayed a little. Concerned onlookers approached her, but it was Erik who got to her first, holding her steady and cupping her face.

"What did he say to you?" he asked, urgently, eyes flicking over every part of her face. His thumb brushed her cheek and she leaned into the touch, shaking her head.

"Nothing."

"Forgive me, my dear, but you struck him. You wouldn't have done that unprovoked."

"I-"

There was the sound of hands clapping together. "That's enough gawping, everyone, off you go. Christine…"

"Oh, Laura, on your wedding day! I'm so sorry."

"Don't be, that wretched man. Are you all right?"

"I think so. It was just a shock, that's all." Christine closed her eyes and took a steadying breath, and when she opened them again, a little circle had formed around her, Albert joining Laura and Henry and Cissy completing the group. She smiled, tiredly, attempting to placate their expressions of worry, to smooth away those frowns. How lucky she was, but then, these people had been fooled. Fooled into thinking that Christine Daae was merely a victim of a dishonest man who had annulled their marriage for reasons unknown, and, of course, they'd assumed the worst, as everyone had. The rumours that had flown around the year before hadn't exactly been kind to Raoul. She was just as dishonest, letting them think that about him, hiding Gustave's true parentage from everyone (even if it was in her son's best interests), lying about Erik's past – what would they think, if they knew? She wasn't an awful person, she knew she wasn't – all she was guilty of was falling in love, albeit falling in love with a previously wanted man. Everything that had been done since had been to protect her family – who wouldn't do everything in their power to protect their children? But what did Raoul mean about the papers? What was she to watch for? Could he… She must have swooned, because all of a sudden she was being swept up into a pair of arms and Erik was asking if someone could fetch Francine and the children and send them out to the carriage. He sounded like he was underwater and far away, although she was dimly aware of grasping his hand and clinging on. He was her anchor and she was suddenly very afraid of slipping away. She heard the muffled, concerned voices of their friends, and could vaguely make out her husband telling them she was exhausted from the baby and that Raoul's appearance hadn't helped when she had already been feeling so tired. All that was needed was rest, and then she would be fine, absolutely fine…

When Christine opened her eyes, she was met with darkness. She felt something soft beneath her, something warm over her, heard the ticking of a clock and… No, wait – she was alone. She was in her own bed, most definitely, but she was alone, for she could not hear the gentle breathing of her husband, nor the soft, snuffling sounds of her baby. Her eyes searched the darkness and as they peered straight ahead, a faint glow caught her attention. Christine reached to the side and switched on her bedside lamp and the room was instantly flooded with soft light. The glow was from a dying ember, the ashy remains of the fire still smoking ever-so-slightly. She remembered, then, the events of the day, and her stomach gave an involuntary lurch. She must have passed out – how long had she been asleep for? A cursory glance at the clock told her it was a little after midnight.

Midnight?

Christine almost fell out of bed in her haste to get up. She must have been asleep for at least seven hours or so and her poor daughter must be crying with hunger! Why had she not been woken? How could Erik have left their baby to suffer so? She ran, briefly registering that she had been changed into a nightgown, that her hair was now loose, and in bare feet hurried into the hall, throwing open the door to the nursery in case Emilie had been put there so as not to disturb her. The room was empty, and she ran back into the hall and down the stairs. "Erik? Erik!" She flew across the lobby and down another hallway, where a door opened and a head popped out.

"Christine?"

"Erik!"

Erik rushed out of the drawing room and went to take hold of his frantic wife, attempting to calm her. "Shhh, Christine, calm down."

"Where's Emilie? She's starving - where is she?"

"It's all right, Emilie's fine. She's asleep."

Christine frowned. Asleep? She wouldn't be asleep if she was hungry… "What…?"

Erik guided her into the room and over to a bassinet, where their daughter was sleeping peacefully. Christine put a hand to her head. "I don't understand…"

"Come, sit down." Erik sat her on a nearby chaise longue and crouched in front of her, taking her hands in his. "Christine, do you really think I would have let her go hungry?"

Christine glanced down, ashamed. She could feel her face turning red. "No. I'm sorry." She looked back up at him. "But, how… Oh, tell me you didn't get a wet nurse!"

"No, no, of course not. I spoke to Mary to ask her what the best thing was, and she gave me cow's milk…"

Christine pulled a face.

"_Pasturised,_" Erik reassured, "and just when I was at a loss as to how to give it to her, I remembered that gift basket you received with those feeding bottles in. I know it wasn't ideal, but, my darling, you needed to _sleep._"

"She took it?"

"She made a fuss at first – she's not used to a bottle teat, after all – but eventually she settled and took it. Mary warmed it a little before she gave it to me. It's no substitute, I know, but, on occasion, when you need to catch up on your rest, I think it's agreeable, don't you? Mary also said we could try mixing the milk with a little bread to make pap and try and spoon-feed her, just as something a little extra, in case she's not getting all she needs from the cow's milk." Erik stopped and smiled at her. "See? She's fine. Francine helped me with her, and Gustave even read her a story before he went to bed."

Christine relaxed and smiled at the thought of her son looking after his baby sister. "He's such a good big brother. How is he, by the way? Did he say much? It must have been such a shock for him, our poor boy."

"He hasn't said anything about it. He was a little quiet on the way home and at dinner, but he perked up again when I asked if he wanted to help me with Emilie."

She nodded. "I'll have a talk with him tomorrow." She glanced at her little girl. "I must feed her properly when she wakes up again. But, thank you."

"You don't have to thank me for taking care of our daughter, my dear."

"I know. It's just…" she smiled again, wider, "I still can't believe how domesticated you are, now."

Erik's face creased with confusion. "I've always been domesticated. I used to live alone, remember?"

"Yes, but what I meant was, with regards to the children. It's all come so naturally to you. Most men just leave the childcare to the women."

"It felt nice to be able to feed her myself. I felt useful. Also, I think we both know I'm not 'most men'."

"That's very true." Christine brushed her lips against his. "What about you? Are you all right?"

Erik pulled her closer, his arms going about her. "Yes. No." He sighed. "I am, now. That man just makes me so angry, and I never thought I'd have to see him again. What did he say to you?"

"I told you, _nothing_." Christine was getting agitated again, although she wasn't quite sure why. It wasn't Erik's fault. Something just didn't feel right.

"Christine…"

She flung herself out of his arms and stood in front of him. She felt as though she might cry, and by the look on her husband's face, she probably looked like she about to, too. "Just stop it! What do you want to hear? That he thinks we should be in hiding from society? That we should be ashamed? That he still calls you a monster?"

There was a cry, then, one that pierced through the fog and brought Christine back to herself. She turned, instantly, and hurried over to where Emilie lay in her bassinet, her little face screwed up with distress. Christine swept her up and held her close, rocking her soothingly. "Oh, my darling, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. Shhhh, now – mama's here." She kissed the top of her daughter's head and let her cheek rest there, inhaling the comforting, powdery scent of her. "I'm sorry," she whispered, kissing her again, tears leaking down her face. She turned to Erik, looking at him guiltily. He was watching her closely, not angry, not annoyed, just troubled, deeply so – she could tell by his eyes. Christine knew that he knew that she hadn't told him everything, but what Raoul had said at the last moment had been inconsequential – hadn't it? But, if that was the case, then why was she so on edge?

_Keep an eye on the front page of the papers…_

Christine closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them, her husband was standing in front of her, his hand on her cheek. "I'm sorry – I didn't mean to upset you. We'll say no more about it. However, you do need to rest more. Bed, now."

She nodded against his hand and let him lead her back up to their bedroom. By the time they'd got there, Emilie had fallen asleep again. Christine placed her gently in her cradle and then sat down on the edge of the bed dejectedly, her hands in her lap. She was aware of Erik's eyes on her as he changed, felt the mattress dip as he climbed onto the bed and came to kneel behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist, his chin coming to rest on her shoulder.

"Sleep, before she wakes again. You need your strength."

She sighed. "I don't think I can."

"You must, my love. Please, forget about him – he had no right to speak as he did, and he has no right to dictate our lives. I know he's confused you – he let you go, risked his reputation by ending your marriage for you, didn't say a word about anything so that you could be happy, and now he's behaving like he never expected you to live the life he claimed he wanted for you. That would put anyone out of sorts. You know I actually had a tiny spark of respect for him when he did all that for you, but now…" Erik shook his head. "He's still a fool and always will be, and he'd do better than to cross me again and upset my family. I know he's disappointed you, but did you really expect anything more?"

Christine shrugged. He was right, of course, but it still didn't make sense as to why he'd behaved so awfully to her. "He said he'd got his drinking under control and had stopped gambling. Maybe time has just made him realise that he has a right to be bitter and angry."

"And you have a right to be happy. Isn't it better than one of you is miserable rather than both of you? He'll move on, eventually- "

"-Like _you_ did?"

"I beg your pardon?" Erik moved to the side of her so he could see her face better.

Christine smiled at him softly. "Ten years, my love, and I was still all you wanted. I wouldn't be so bold or self-obsessed as to think that Raoul would never move on from me, but you can't say he should be over me by now, should be over the fact that he spent ten years raising a son whom he loved and thought his."

"It's different," Erik insisted. "I didn't have the option of meeting anyone else – I could never have dared hope that even _one _woman could love me, let alone more. He doesn't have to hide away like I did. If you'd stayed together, you would have both been miserable. Now you're not, and, one day, he won't be, either. He seems to be doing all right – after all, he did arrive at the wedding as the guest of a socialite, it's not as if he's been cooped up alone."

"Yes, it is different, but different or not, that doesn't mean he doesn't have the right to be upset. You can't dictate how long someone will be hurting for just because of circumstances."

"That doesn't…" Erik pinched the bridge of his nose. "The point is he upset you, so much that you hit him, and now you're _defending_ him."

Christine sighed with frustration. "I'm _not_ defending him. He deserved that slap. I'm just saying that I can see why he's angry. I didn't lash out because he was angry with what had happened between us; I lashed out because he insulted _you. _Now, please, can we just go to sleep? I have a headache and you're not helping," she snapped, instantly regretting doing so.

"Fine." Erik moved and lay down on his side, facing away from her, and it took all the strength Christine had left for her not to cry again. She turned the lamp off and curled up under the blankets. _It will all be better in the morning_, she told herself, although even as she thought it, she barely believed it.

* * *

"_Freak!"_

"_Abomination!"_

"_Who would have thought, the famous Christine Daae married to a murderer, and her son, their illegitimate child!"_

"_The Vicomte de Chagny was the real victim all along!"_

"_It wasn't acid – he was born that way! Child of Satan!"_

"_They lied, tricked us all!"_

"_To think, we became friends with them!"_

"_Lock them up!"_

"_Take the girl! She's young enough to be given to a good family, young enough to be saved – she'll not remember them. Save the child!"_

"_No, please! Please, don't take my baby!"_

"_See them hanged!"_

"_My husband is redeeming himself – he's a good man! Please, you don't know what he's been through! He's paid for his sins!"_

"_A man? He's a monster!"_

"_He's a human being!"_

"_And you, you're no better. You love him? How can you claim to love such a despicable creature?"_

"_He's not!"_

"_Chase them out of the city!"_

"_Chase them into the water! Let them drown!"_

"_Take the boy – put him in the workhouse. Let him sleep upon a cold floor and know that his father put him there!"_

"_No! Please, my children are innocent. My babies…"_

"_Kill the monster!"_

"_No, I love him! He's not a monster – he can't help how he was born! Look at what he's done for the city, look at how he's kept you entertained and enthralled, look at what he built for you all!"_

"_He lied and took our money! He cheated and deceived!"_

"_KILL HIM!"_

"_NO!"_

Christine's eyes flew open and she bolted upright, her hand at her chest as she tried to breathe, dragging air into her trembling body. She was covered in sweat, disorientated and distressed, her legs tangled in the covers. She turned to her right and when she saw Erik sleeping there, safe and well, she almost sobbed with relief.

_It was just a dream – no, a nightmare. A horrible, horrible nightmare. But it wasn't real. It _never_ will be real._

As she calmed, silent tears rolling down her cheeks, she found she'd never been more glad that Erik hadn't woken up, that he was sleeping so deeply, because she wasn't sure she would have been able to stop herself from telling him what she'd dreamed, and he really didn't need to hear it. More than anything, she needed him to hold her, but she would not wake him. Quietly, she slipped out of bed and made her way to the clock on the mantel. Peering at it through the darkness she could just make out that it was a little after two. Christine wiped her face and took in a deep breath, her broken gasps becoming more settled. She didn't want to sleep, now. Instead, she shakily poured herself a glass of water from a jug on top of the dresser and downed it all in one go before going over to stare out of the window. The night sky completely betrayed how she was feeling. It was clear again, now, a beautiful crescent moon hanging against a backdrop of spilt diamonds. How could something look so perfect when she felt so wretched?

There was a small noise, a gentle snuffle. Christine turned her attention back to the room and walked towards the source. Emilie lay awake in her cradle, her arms waving about a little as if to catch her mother's attention. Christine smiled at her tiredly and picked her up, giving her a cuddle as she settled on the bed to feed her. Sitting back against the headboard, she barely felt the tug-and-suck on her breast as she stared off into the dark, her mind wandering back to her awful dream.

That was when it hit her.

She'd already known, of course, but she'd pushed it down into the recesses of her mind and only now had it surfaced, reared its ugly head and forced her to believe something that she'd tried to make herself become blissfully ignorant of.

But, Raoul wouldn't do that… Would he?

Christine couldn't let that destroy them. So, she stayed awake, hatching a plan.

At five o'clock, she dressed silently, disguised herself in her husband's shirt and trousers, pulled the waist tight with a belt to stop them from falling, reached for one of his coats and a hat, slipped into her boots and crept out of the room.

It was freezing outside. Christine kept to the shadows, every noise spooking her. From a distance, she looked nothing more than a beggar, but up close, she looked like a beggar _and _a thief, dressed in oversized finery. The last thing she needed was to be caught out by a passing policeman. She didn't have far to go, and she moved along until she reached the corner of Fifth Avenue and East 72nd Street. There, she spotted what she had been looking for – the news vendor. The only problem was, how was she going to get close enough to see the front page of the papers he hadn't even yet removed from their ties, without him seeing her. She felt sick and terrified, but she had to know. It was imperative, for that news vendor had in front of him something which could change her whole entire life, her _family's _whole entire life, in mere seconds, and the sooner she knew, the sooner they could deal with it before the whole city found out, even if that meant throwing things into a case, jumping into their carriage and leaving before the sun came up.

Christine moved silently along the railings of the park, as quiet as a puma about to pounce on its prey. The vendor wasn't facing her, and she held her breath as she got closer, her whole body trembling with fear. Then the vendor turned, and she froze, breathless, and pressed herself flat against the railings. Her heart was thudding in her chest almost painfully, and she watched helplessly as he untied the first bundle of papers.

She squinted at him, the street lamp above him casting enough light that she could see, as he studied the front page, that he didn't look particularly shocked by whatever it was that he was reading. Still, she couldn't allow herself to relax. Maybe he just wasn't that expressive. He grabbed the pile, then, and moved to put them on his stand. When she was certain he was suitably occupied, she stole forward, just enough so that she could see the papers in the light. She scanned across the bundles as quickly as she could, then, with an enormous, inward sigh of relief, she slunk back into the shadows. There was nothing! Nothing about them, nothing about Raoul.

_Nothing_.

Careful not to make a sound, she hurried away. She was half-way home when a rat scurried out in front of her, and she screamed before throwing her hands over her mouth. Feeling foolish, she made it back home without further incidence, creeping through the front door and closing it behind her quietly. Then she turned… and walked straight into something solid. Something warm. Something that was looking down at her none too happily. And not _something, _but some_one._

Erik grabbed her arm, not aggressively, but firmly. He looked scared and angry and relieved all at the same time.

"Where the _hell _have you been?" he admonished in a loud, shaky whisper. "I've been going out of my mind. I woke up and you weren't in bed nor anywhere else in the house. I was about to call the police! What on Earth were you doing outside at this hour, in the dark on your own? Do you have _any _idea what could have happened to you? Jesus Christ, Christine!" Then he pulled her into the fiercest hug she'd ever known, knocking the hat from her head. "I love you so much. The thought of losing you…" Christine felt him trembling and she burst into tears.

Still, even then she couldn't tell him the truth. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry. I couldn't sleep and I was so restless. I thought some air might help – I didn't think. I just…" she hiccupped and buried her face in his chest. "I'm so tired," she sobbed. That part wasn't a lie at all – she was exhausted.

"I know, darling girl, I know," he soothed, as he cradled her. He let out a long sigh. "I'm sorry I got angry, but you _did _frighten the life out of me. Please, don't ever do that again. If you need air go out in the garden, or at least get me to escort you if you must walk along the street."

"I didn't want to wake you," she mumbled against him.

Erik pushed her gently back from him so he could look down at her, and only then seemed to realise just what she was wearing. "Christine – why are you wearing my clothes?"

She looked back at him sheepishly. "It was quicker, and I thought I might be safer if people thought I was a man."

He pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh.

"I know, I look ridiculous."

"No, you look adorable. Drowned, but adorable." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Come on, back to bed."

Christine followed him up, changed back into her nightgown and climbed in next to him, reveling in the warmth of his embrace.

But still, sleep eluded her.

* * *

**Just in case any of you are wondering why Margaret Carter didn't make an appearance, considering, all will be revealed in the next chapter :)**


	18. Chapter 18

**Is it evil that I'm loving how confused I've made some of you, and those that have reviewed are thinking something completely different to what I've got planned? XD That makes me happy, though, because I truly enjoy reading what you think might happen! :) It's not over yet...**

* * *

Her heart wasn't in it. Erik had known it would be futile, but if she couldn't sleep, maybe he could get her to focus on something else for a while - if she could do that, and forget for a time just how tired she was, maybe she would then be able to drift off. Just sitting and thinking about how she couldn't was probably doing more harm than good.

He'd written her a new song, but he could tell, even as she warmed up and practiced her scales, that they wouldn't get anywhere. She couldn't hit her top notes - she didn't even try. She was breathless, heavy limbed, her eyes red and the skin underneath dark. His poor wife, struggling on - that wasn't how it was meant to have been, that wasn't the point of the exercise. Not even music could help her at this moment in time.

Erik sighed and stopped playing, closing the piano lid.

"What are you doing?" Christine asked, as the music stopped and she faltered.

He held a hand out to her and when she took it, pulled her onto his lap. "I'm sorry. I thought singing might help, that if you could forget for a while it would be easier later on."

Christine gave him an amused smile. "I was terrible, wasn't I?"

Erik chuckled lightly. "No… You're tired."

"How very diplomatic of you."

"I like to think I try. Now, how about some lunch? You hardly touched your breakfast."

"Oh, darling, I really don't feel up to it. I feel so nauseous."

"My love, you must have _something._ Even if you don't want it, think of Emilie - she relies on you for nourishment, unless…"

Christine shook her head. "No, no bottle. Not unless it's absolutely necessary. You're right - I'll try something. Something light."

Erik pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Good." He hadn't meant to guilt trip her, but he hadn't known what else to do. She was driving him mad with worry, and it wasn't her fault, he was just beside himself. He'd woken up early that morning, pulled from sleep by a sort of instinctual awareness that something wasn't right, something he couldn't quite explain, and when he'd noticed that Christine wasn't by his side, he hadn't acted on that feeling at first, thinking she'd just gone to the bathroom. But, as the minutes had ticked by, he'd grown more and more unnerved, and he'd slipped out of bed… That was when he'd noticed her discarded nightgown. Quickly, he'd gone to the bathroom and upon not finding her there, had checked every room in the house, his heart pounding with fear. She'd been nowhere at all, and then, when he'd heard a key turning in the front door and she'd crept in, the relief had been overwhelming, but he'd also been upset and angry, angry that something could have happened to her and he wouldn't have been there to stop it, upset that she'd suffered in silence and not woken him. He'd been terrified. He'd had to get used to feeling like that a lot since she'd come back into his life, more so now he had children as well, but even so, he still wasn't prepared for it.

They went through to the dining room and found Gustave already at the table, talking in a baby-voice to his little sister, who was sitting on his knee. Francine sat nearby, keeping a watchful eye over them.

"Having fun?" Erik asked with a smile as they walked in.

Gustave glanced up, a question on the tip of his tongue. "When will she be able to talk?"

"Oh, not for a while yet, darling," Christine replied, sitting down at the table.

Gustave looked disappointed. "Can she understand what I'm saying? She smiles a lot."

"Probably not, but she may have some understanding of your tone of voice, which is why she smiles at you. That, and she loves her big brother."

"You think so?"

"Absolutely. Now, pass her to Francine so that you can eat your lunch. Francine, I will fetch Emilie for her feed after we've eaten," Christine smiled, sending the maid on her way.

"Yes, Madame."

"Oh, wait." Christine rose from her seat so that she could give her daughter a kiss. "Thank you, Francine."

Much to Erik's dismay, Christine only managed a bowl of soup, forgoing the bread, cold meats, cheese and cake that had been put out for them. Then she'd excused herself, looking pale and withdrawn, leaving Erik and Gustave alone.

"Papa, is mama sick?"

"No, dear boy, she's just tried."

"Still?"

"Looking after a baby is hard work, Gustave - more so for mothers. It'll take her a while to catch up, but she'll be ok, don't you worry."

If only Erik could believe his own words.

* * *

"_The monster is dead!"_

"_No…"_

"_Saw with my own eyes. Hanged. Oh, how he struggled…"_

"_No! Erik!"_

"_Christine…"_

"_Erik!"_

"_Christine…"_

"_ERIK!"_

"Christine!"

Christine shot bolt upright, screaming. She reached out, still stuck in her dream, although her eyes were wide open. "ERIK!"

"Christine!" Erik's arms went around her, holding her still, but she struggled, and he held her tighter until she calmed a little. "I'm here, darling, I'm here, it's all right… Shhhh…"

"Erik…" she sobbed, finally coming round and realising that he was safe, that they were both at home, together. She threw her arms around him and let him rock her, feeling the beat of his heart against her chest.

"It was a dream, Christine, just a dream…"

She mumbled against him.

"Pardon?"

She looked up at him with tired, red eyes. "Please don't leave me…"

"Oh, Christine…" Erik kissed her hair. "I'm not going anywhere. I would _never _leave you, you know that. You and the children are my whole world. It was just a bad dream."

"No…"

"Christine…"

"No!" She sobbed again and pulled out of his arms, flying off the bed and towards the far corner of the room, where she sank down against the wall, her head in her hands, body shaking as a torrent of tears poured down her face.

* * *

Erik was beside himself. He'd never seen his wife looking so wretched, so lost. He glanced towards the cradle. Emilie was wailing in distress, woken in the most horrible way by her mother's screams. He was torn, but he knew he had to go to her first. He picked the baby up, holding her close and jiggling her in his arms. "Don't cry, little one, don't cry," he whispered to her, as he went over to where Christine was curled up, her knees pulled under her chin. "Christine, I'm going to take Emilie to Francine and then I'll be straight back, I promise."

"No, no, my baby…"

"I'll be quick, I swear"

"No!"

Erik had no choice but to momentarily leave her. Christine needed his full attention and his daughter needed calm and comfort. He didn't like having to wake the staff during the night, but he deemed this an emergency. He hurried up to the top of the house where the maid's room was and knocked frantically on her door. "Francine!"

There was a small, startled noise, the sound of scrabbling around, a light switching on and bare feet on a wooden floor. The door opened a crack.

"Monsieur?"

"Francine, I'm sorry, but Christine is unwell and I need you to take Emilie for me."

Francine opened the door fully as she finished knotting her dressing down. "Should I call for the doctor?"

"No, no, I'll see to her." He gave his daughter a kiss and handed her over. "When she's hungry give her her bottle. The bassinet is in the nursery. Thank you," he said, gratefully.

"Not at all, monsieur."

With that, Erik turned and rushed back to his wife. She was exactly where he'd left her, still crying, still terrified. His heart broke. He knelt in front of her, his hands taking hers. "Christine…"

"I can't…" she breathed, and Erik had to strain to hear her.

"Can't what, my love?"

But all Christine did was shake her head and sob again.

"Christine, come back over to the bed, please - you can't be comfortable down here on the floor."

"I _can't. _I can't sleep. When I do, I have terrible nightmares, but if I'm not dreaming, then I'm awake! My brain won't switch off and everything is so noisy!"

Erik shifted so he was beside her and pulled her onto his lap, rocking her as she cried. He didn't know what to do - maybe Francine was right when she asked about getting the doctor, maybe he _should _call him.

"I'm so tired… So tired…"

"Would it help, do you think, if you told me what your nightmare was about?"

She shook her head again.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to!"

"All right, all right…"

Christine's sobs eventually subsided, and Erik was certain she'd fallen asleep. Glancing down at her confirmed this, and, very gently, he stood with her in his arms and carried her back over to the bed. His legs were numb, and he nearly stumbled as the feeling came back to them, pins and needles shooting up his limbs. Carefully, he tucked her in, then sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his hands over his eyes. He was confused. She'd been tired for a while, but no more than was expected. However, ever since the wedding, ever since Raoul had spoken to her...

He would find him. Christine might not want to tell him what the man had said, but he would get it out of the arrogant, idiotic fool, force it out of him if he had to.

And then, he would pay.

* * *

Christine managed about three hours sleep before she woke again, and she lay in the dark for what seemed like a lifetime waiting for the sun to come up, fighting the overwhelming urge to slip out again so she could check the papers. Would today be the day? Tomorrow? Why was he toying with her like this? Did she really deserve to suffer so all because of love? When the sun finally broke through, bathing the room in weak, muted winter light, she got up and shakily walked over to her wardrobe, ready to dress for the day. Her body felt heavy and it was an effort to move her legs - it like she was walking through thick, deep mud.

"Have you just woken up?"

The voice made her jump. She was already on edge, her nerves completely frayed. "Yes," she lied, turning to face her husband. "I was just going to dress."

"How are you feeling now?" Erik rose and walked wearily over to her, his arms stretching above him. "Come here."

She did as asked, walking into his arms and letting him hold her. She rested her head on his shoulder, breathed in the scent of him, and for a moment she felt calmer, more settled and able to face the day. However, that feeling wasn't to last, because as soon as they'd dressed and gone downstairs, Christine felt only dread again.

"Where are the children?"

"Emilie is with Francine, as, I'm assuming, is Gustave. Do you remember much of last night?" Erik asked her gently, holding her hand as they sat at the table.

Christine hung her head. "Yes. That's twice I've startled our poor baby awake. She must hate me."

"I'm sure that's not the case. She won't understand and she's probably forgotten about it, now."

"I need to feed her."

"What you _need_ to do is eat, my dear. Francine will take care her."

Christine sighed and picked at a piece of toast. Erik looked at her pointedly.

"Take some eggs."

She did so, knowing there was no point in arguing, but still she pushed her food around her plate with her fork, only occasionally taking tiny nibbles. Her cup of tea, on the other hand, was most welcome.

"Have some fruit, as well."

"Darling, please, I'm not a child."

Erik put down his knife and fork and leaned forward over the table. "I know you're not - I'm just worried about you."

"Please, don't be," she muttered.

"Christine, please don't be difficult - I'm just trying to help you."

"I don't need help! What I need is peace and quiet and to be…" She trailed off as Jane walked in with Erik's paper. Her stomach dropped. No. No no no no no…. Everything became slow and dull. Her head spun. Her mouth went dry. This wasn't happening, it couldn't be… Through her haze, she managed to focus her eyes on her husband's face. He was looking at her, mouth open as if to say something, but then he sighed and looked away. She watched as he unfolded the paper and scanned the front page. His eyes widened. He looked… Christine thought she would be sick, but just as she was about to try and stand, Erik spoke up, and what he said wasn't what she had been expecting at all.

"Well. It seems our dear Vicomte de Changy is engaged. Imagine that."

She looked at Erik questioningly, not quite believing it. "He is?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

"It would seem so, yes. I don't see how it warrants the front page of the New York Times, though."

Christine shook her head, trying to clear it. "Didn't he say… Erm, what was her name?"

"Margaret Carter."

"Yes, her - didn't he say she was the daughter of a general? Maybe that's why."

"Hmmm, well." Erik folded the paper back up and placed it down on the table. "Looks like he'll be here for a while longer." His expression softened. "Are you…"

"Am I all right? Why wouldn't I be? I'm going to go and see the children - will you come through when you're finished?"

"Yes, of course. Christine-"

But Christine left the room without even giving him the chance to finish.

* * *

Christine was in the lobby when the doorbell rang. She stared at the door for a moment, not sure whether to open it, looking at it like it was her worst enemy. However, if she didn't get it, someone else would, and if it was anything bad… She took a deep breath and crossed over to it, pulling it open.

In front of her was a pretty young woman, who was smiling at her pleasantly. She had no idea who she was.

"Christine Muhlheim?"

"Yes. Can I help you?"

"I'm…" The woman faltered. Christine wondered why she looked so nervous, or maybe she'd just noticed Christine's pale face and tired eyes and was thinking up all sorts of possibilities.

"Yes?"

"Sorry." She smiled again. "I'm Margaret Carter. May I come in and speak with you?"

Margaret Carter? Raoul's fiancée? What could she possibly want with her? Her stomach gave an involuntary lurch. But, the girl was smiling and it seemed genuine, although she couldn't be entirely sure. Christine stared at her suspiciously.

"What about?"

Margaret's expression turned a little anxious. "It's about what happened at the wedding. Please, I'm not here to cause any trouble, I promise."

Christine thought a moment, then nodded, satisfied, and opened the door wider.

"Thank you."

"Please, come through," Christine said, walking towards the drawing room. "Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, please, that would be lovely."

Christine pressed the service bell and motioned for Margaret to sit. "I'm sorry if I seem a little out of sorts - I've not been sleeping too well."

"Oh, don't worry - I can only imagine how tiring a new baby can be."

"Yes, she does demand a lot of attention, and I prefer to take care of her myself as much as I can. I never wanted to be one of those mothers who completely relies on a nanny."

"Ma'am?"

Oh, Jane - could you fetch some tea, please? And could you also ask Erik to come through? He's in the music room."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You don't mind, do you?" Christine asked, watching Margaret's face carefully. The young woman didn't flinch.

"Of course not. I, erm… Well, I wanted to apologise, really?"

Christine frowned and perched on the edge of the chaise longue she was sat on. "Apologise?"

Margaret nodded, her blonde curls bouncing around her face, hands clasped tightly in her lap. "Yes. Raoul's been… Well, when I met him he was very down. I knew all about what had happened, obviously - it was all over the papers. But I saw something in him and I… I suppose I wanted to rescue him. When he was sober, he was charming, and gradually, the better he became, the more I felt for him. I was much surprised to find out that he reciprocated my feelings, but pleased, of course. I know he will always hold a candle for you, I'm not oblivious, and I think that's why he acted so rashly. I wasn't even aware you were there - we'd only come for the reception, not the service - and I was in another room when the incident happened. I've been a bit out of the loop since I left New York - I've been away for ten months, but time moves so quickly here that it seems forever. Anyway, he told me that he'd upset you, said things about you and your family in the heat of the moment and he honestly is truly sorry."

"Really? And he couldn't apologise himself?" Christine said, a little harshly. It wasn't Margaret's fault, and she wondered just how much Raoul had actually told her. She seemed so innocent.

"He-"

"Miss Carter?"

Christine sighed a little in relief. Innocent or not, she'd not wanted to be left alone with Margaret, not when she was feeling so rotten.

"Yes, hello," Margaret said, moving to stand.

Erik held a hand out, stopping her. "There's no need," he said, as he shook her hand politely before moving over to his wife. "Ok?" he mouthed to Christine, his back to Margaret, stalling before he turned to sit.

Christine nodded and even managed a small, but forced, smile. "Miss Carter-"

"-Margaret, please."

"_Margaret, _was just filling me in on how she met Raoul. She rescued him and they fell in love - isn't that sweet? Raoul is very sorry for the upset he caused at Laura and Albert's wedding, but couldn't quite bring himself to come and apologise himself."

"No, he… He doesn't know I'm here."

"So, if you hadn't come here, that apology wouldn't have reached us at all?" Erik asked, clearly none too impressed with how Margaret was trying to defend the Vicomte.

Margaret sighed. "I honestly don't know."

"I see. Well, it's very noble of you, Miss Carter, to carry out a task that your fiancé, if he had any backbone, should do himself. Do you have any idea how upset my wife has been these past few days?"

"Erik, please…"

"No, it's all right…"

Jane walked in, then, a tea tray in her hands. She placed it on the coffee table and then quickly left, clearly sensing the tension in the room.

"I'm not defending him," Margaret continued, carefully. "I know it seems like it, but I'm not. I read about your happy announcement before I went to Paris and, of course, I knew of you both by reputation even before then. Raoul told me of the despicable things he'd said, and I know they're not true. He's got a way to go, but I promise you, he is so much better than he was when I first met him. I honestly do love him, and I know that he loves me, despite how you'll always have a place in his heart."

Christine cleared her throat a little awkwardly and reached forward to pour the tea. "Well…" She lifted the pot, but the weight was too much for her weak, lethargic body and she dropped it as her wrist gave way, the china smashing and hot water pouring out all over her hand and the table. She cried out in agony.

"Christine!"

Christine jumped up from the shock of it and instantly stumbled, her legs unable to support her. She felt Erik grab hold of her. The pain was indescribable and tears came to her eyes, her skin burning like fire. "Oh, God!" She was vaguely aware of Erik trying to soothe her as he helped her out of the room, half carrying her as he rushed her down to the kitchen.

"My goodness, what happened?" Mary exclaimed, hurrying after them as they passed.

Erik stopped them by the sink and turned on the cold tap, grabbing Christine's wrist and holding her hand under the stream.

Christine hissed against the pain. She couldn't keep still.

"She dropped the teapot and scalded herself."

"Oh, no, sir, you don't want to be holding her hand under the tap – who ever heard of that? I'll get you some baking soda."

"Baking soda?"

Mary was right – who _had _heard of that? But it was helping, the coldness a relief against her burning skin. "I'd like to keep it here for a while – it's helping."

"Are you sure?" Erik asked. "It was the first thing that came to mind – doesn't it make sense, to put cold over hot?"

"It must do, for it's working." Tentatively, she removed her hand from the stream, and the pain came shooting back. "Ow!" It went straight back under the water.

"You can't keep it there forever, ma'am," Mary said, sympathetically, approaching with a tin and a cotton bandage. "May I try?"

Christine glanced at the tin, then sighed and nodded. "Very well, but let me stand here a few moments more, first."

A few moments turned into a few minutes. Christine's hand was going numb and starting to ache and, finally, she asked Erik to turn the tap off. She gritted her teeth, the pain lessened but not gone, and, quick as a flash, Mary gently took hold of her wrist and sprinkled baking soda over her sore flesh. "Oh, that's not too bad, actually."

"See? I've had to use this many a time, believe me, ma'am." Mary carefully tied the bandage around Christine's hand. "There we are. There's plenty more, so change it whenever you need to. It'll be sore for a while, but you're lucky it wasn't worse."

"Thank you, Mary. Oh, we have a guest upstairs - could you please ask Jane to show Miss Carter out, with my apologies? I'm afraid we left her in rather a hurry."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Erik?" Christine said, when Mary had left. "I need to sit down."

Erik pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and guided her into it. He sat next to her wearily. "My poor love – what am I to do with you?"

Christine shook her head. "Am I going mad?" she asked, her voice small and unsure. "I've never felt so utterly terrible before."

"No, don't say such things, Christine. You are not mad."

"I feel I was a little hard on Miss Carter. I didn't mean to be – of course, she doesn't know the full story."

"I do believe the poor girl may be slightly deluded, standing up for a man who reacted the way hedid upon seeing us. You don't think she's making a mistake marrying him? She seems too meek, too obedient."

"Don't all men like meek, obedient wives?"

"If that were the case, my darling, you and I would not be husband and wife; you've always had spark, Christine" he said. Christine smiled, one that this time reached her eyes. "Ah, that's better – I've not seen that for a while." He tapped her smile with a finger, and she kissed it.

"I think what she said makes sense," Christine said, becoming serious again. "Maybe seeing us just set him back a bit."

"Christine, don't defend his actions."

"I'm not, I just…" she sighed. She wasn't up for discussing this right now. "I need to rest."

* * *

In the morning, after breakfast, Erik would seek Raoul out and find out just what, exactly, he had said to Christine. He _knew,_ despite what she had already said, and even after the apology from Raoul's fiancée, that there was still more to it. Raoul wouldn't have told the girl the full story, and Christine, for a different reason, had certainly not told _him_ everything. He didn't want to leave her alone, but he had no choice. His wife, in just a few days, had become a shadow of her former self. He'd watched her, earlier, from behind a book as she'd fed their daughter, holding Emilie to her as best she could without knocking her hand, studying her face closely. She'd stared ahead, not looking at anything at all, her eyes almost glazed in appearance, set in dark circles, her skin grey. It was almost as if the life was being sucked out of her by some unseen force. He shuddered. Christine _would _be well again – he refused to simply watch her fade away. He needed his wife, their children needed their mother, and Christine, with her gift, her love, her compassion and her beautiful spirit, needed to _live_.

Erik turned over, careful not to knock Christine for fear of waking her. She was sleeping for now, restlessly, and he was praying that she would not have another nightmare, that she would relax, for restless sleep was almost as bad as no sleep at all. Her bandaged hand lay across her chest, and he was worried it would slip and she would roll onto it. It had looked so painful, so raw.

Eventually, though, after fighting it in order to watch over his wife, sleep claimed him, and the last thing he thought before he drifted off was how horribly unfair it was that he could fall so easily into peaceful slumber whilst she continued to suffer.

Not even an hour later, he was woken by a scream.

This time, it was worse, and, fighting against her refusal, trying not to cry himself as she begged him not to, as she clung to him and out of desperation made promises to sleep, calmly and deeply, promises they both knew were not possible, Erik pulled out of her vice-like grip and called the doctor.

He held her still as Doctor Marlow administered the sedative, biting his lip to keeps his tears at bay as she sobbed and fought against him, scared that she would hate him forever, but what else could he do? This time, she had been beyond frantic. He'd told the doctor as much as he could, and, once he was done, Marlow said something that struck fear into his heart.

"She may very well pull herself out of it, but, if she's not better after a few days, from what you've told me, it may benefit her to spend some time in the institution."

"No! No, don't you dare send her to that place! She's not mad, she's _exhausted_."

The doctor put his hands out, placating him. "Mr Muhlheim, plenty of women go there just to rest. They leave the trials and tribulations of their lives behind for a while, and in no time at all, they're home again, happy and well and able to go on as before. She would be well taken care of."

"Absolutely not," Erik refused, stroking Christine's hair as she relaxed into him, the sedative taking effect. "I'll look after her."

The doctor nodded. "Very well. Do you have other means of nutrition for the child? It's not a good idea for your wife to breastfeed until the sedative is out of her system," he stated, looking towards the cradle where Emilie, by some miracle, remained fast asleep.

Fantastic. Now she would hate him even more. "Yes."

Doctor Marlow looked at him sympathetically, and then moved on to examine Christine's hand. "Hmmm… Well, her hand will be sore for a while, but it doesn't look like there will be any lasting damage. Just carry on treating it as you were if it helps." He closed his bag and stood. "It's not uncommon, you know, for women to be worn out and over-emotional after the birth of a child, and with the added shock she's had… Maybe, as you're not too keen on my original advice, you could take her to stay by the sea for a few days? The change in scenery and air might be of some benefit to her."

That was agreeable, and not at all a bad idea. "You might be right – thank you," Erik said, a little calmer, now.

"I'll call tomorrow afternoon to see how she is."

The doctor took his leave, and Erik gently laid Christine down, brushing her hair away from her face and tucking the blankets around her, being careful of her hand. He pressed a soft kiss to her lips and lightly rested his forehead against hers.

"I'm so sorry, my darling girl," he whispered. "Please, forgive me."

* * *

**Just wanted to say, all the little weird bits and pieces that pop up, I've researched them and they're all true, and, actually, some people still use baking soda on superficial burns today and swear by it! Can't say I've tried it, though... Apparently, running cold water over a burn is something that only came in during or just after WWII (so I read - don't quote me on that).**


	19. Chapter 19

**Wow, I've made it to 100 reviews! I'm so grateful! :)**

**I just have some little things to mention before we continue. Firstly, some of you have asked if Christine is pregnant again because she has been feeling queasy, but the answer is no, I'm afraid! She and Erik have only been together once since she had the baby and in the story, that was only a few days ago. Exhaustion and anxiety can make you feel nauseous, as I know only too well. **

**Secondly, I did wonder if I'd made Christine deteriorate too quickly, but having done some research on the subject, it's entirely possible, following a quick succession of events, for her to be like she is already. Exhaustion, followed by a threat, followed by anxiety, nightmares, etc, was all too much for her all in one go, plus, she's always had that worry at the back of her mind that people could find out, she's just been able to suppress it thus far. It's just been an unfortunate, quick chain that's knocked her off her axis, so to speak.**

**Thirdly, to one of my reviewers, Lucas Austin: I would have appreciated it if, when pressing the review button, you'd actually left a few words other than to _just_ tell me I'd got Erik's name wrong. That would have been nice. But, in response, in actual fact, the surname 'Destler' was only used in that questionable 1989 Phantom film (which was also taken away from its original setting). It's not in the original Gaston Leroux novel. Granted, the surname 'Muhlheim' wasn't in it, either, but as I've already pointed out (at the end of the chapter you commented on), I took it from the novel The Phantom of Manhattan, on which Love Never Dies is loosely based. I do hope a mere name hasn't put you off reading! :)**

**Lastly, I promise things will get better, soon. Then they will get bad again, and then better again XD Sorry!**

* * *

"You didn't have to come with me, you know."

"Yes, I did. Erik, do you know what you're doing?"

"Henry, he's made my wife _ill_. If she won't tell me what he said, then I'll get it out of him myself."

"I just don't want you doing anything rash. I know you're angry and believe me, if it were Cissy I would feel the same - just don't go charging in there like a bull."

Erik stopped suddenly, Henry walking into him with a soft thud.

"What do you think I'm going to do? Kill him?" Erik knew he shouldn't have said that, but his blood was boiling. Luckily, Henry knew he didn't mean it, the man shaking his head.

"You know that's not what I meant. Just be careful."

Erik sighed. He wanted Raoul to pay, more than anything. No, he wouldn't kill him - he wouldn't jeopardise his family's future like that, and he'd matured from the man he used to be, thought the old him despicable, the things he did unspeakable. However, he wasn't above striking fear into the Vicomte's heart – _no one_ upset his family and got away with it. In the corner of the lobby of The Plaza Hotel, he spoke to Henry in hushed tones.

"I can't ask which room he's in because they'll know something's wrong - everyone knows his history with my family. Find out his room number and then I'll sneak up the stairs."

"All right, but I'm coming up with you."

Erik stared at him pointedly.

Henry rolled his eyes. "I'll wait outside the room. Say, if I hadn't come with you, how would you have got his room number?"

"I… I would have thought of _something…_"

Henry smiled, amused. "Ok, genius. Wait here."

* * *

Cissy sat on the edge of her friend's bed, holding her hand and watching over her as she slept. It was awful, this situation her friends had found themselves in, and she felt helpless. When Erik had called her and explained what had been going on, needing her to look after Christine while he went to see Raoul, she'd known instantly that sending her husband along with him would be for the best, not wanting Erik to get himself into trouble. She'd agreed wholeheartedly that going to see him was the best thing to do if Christine wouldn't talk, but she was under strict instructions to not tell Christine where they'd gone, not only because she would be angry with Erik for going behind her back, but also because she was in too fragile a state.

Poor Christine. While it was true that Cissy liked to have friends who were a little less stuffy and proper than those she usually came into contact with, they were few and far between, which is why she kept those she did find to be more spirited close to her. Still, Christine and Erik had been quite a bit different to anyone she'd ever met, and she'd fallen in love with them. They were dear, loyal friends and their small circle, along with Albert and Laura (who were on Honeymoon and thankfully didn't have to see their friends so distressed), had become very close. She'd do anything for them, and her anxiety over Christine's health was making her queasy. It was terrifying to see her like this, all over a conversation with her… Well, legally he wasn't even classed as an ex-husband, because the marriage had ceased to have ever existed. She couldn't believe he'd said such wicked things to her. It had been his own fault that their marriage had dissolved, and what had Erik done? Why did he hate him so, a man who had looked after Christine and fallen in love with her, who had accepted Gustave as his own son and treated him as such? Surely he would want the best for them, after everything? Telling them they didn't belong in society, with Erik's injured face, calling him a monster, suggesting that they should hide away… It was such cruelty.

"Eri…"

"Christine?" Cissy leaned forward, squeezing her friend's hand.

"Eri…" Christine's voice was barely a whisper, weak and hoarse-sounding.

"Christine, darling, it's Cissy."

Slowly, Christine opened her eyes, blinking against the light. She looked like a ghost, withdrawn and sickly, her beauty hidden behind a veil of sadness. "Cissy?"

Cissy smiled gently at her. "Yes, my dear. How are you feeling?"

"What…" Christine went to sit up, her movements lethargic. "What's going on?"

"Erik had to run an errand – he asked me to sit with you while he was gone. Oh, Christine, you poor girl. You seemed to be sleeping quite soundly – did it help?"

* * *

Christine found that she couldn't answer. Her hand throbbed, and she felt confused and heavy and dazed – if she'd slept, she certainly didn't feel refreshed. Why… She gasped.

"Christine? What's wrong?"

"Erik, he… And the doctor… Oh, God! He sedated me! I begged Erik not to let him, but he wouldn't stop him, he held me tight…" Christine's voice broke, her eyes watering.

"No, no, Christine listen to me – You're sick. What Erik did, he did out of love, out of desperation. You needed to sleep, your body needed rest. Please, don't blame him, darling."

"No," Christine shook her head, vehemently. "No…" Christine started to scratch at her arm, her skin suddenly itchy.

"Stop it, Christine… Christine!" Cissy pulled her hands away from her and Christine fought, weakly, until a pair of hands took hold of her face, holding it steady. She stilled, eyes on her friend's.

"What's happening to me?" She asked in a frightened whisper.

Cissy, looking like she was about to cry, stared at her sadly. "Nothing is wrong with you. I know you're scared, but you just need rest, that's all. You need to rest and clear you mind. You need calm. Erik was talking about taking you to Coney for a few days, thought the air might do you good. Won't that be nice?"

Christine blinked, her eyes bleary and sore. Then, something came to her, and she completely ignored everything that Cissy had just said. "Have you seen the papers today?" she asked, nervously, her voice trembling.

"Erm, yes, I have. Why?"

Christine studied her face. Nothing, clearly. She relaxed a little, and Cissy seemed to notice this because she smiled as if she were relieved.

"Where are the children?"

"They're downstairs with Francine. Would you like to see them?"

"Yes, and I want to feed Emilie." She frowned, then, as Cissy's expression changed. "What?"

Cissy sighed and looked at her apologetically. "You can't feed Emilie just yet – the sedative…"

The sedative? It had tainted her! She would not take it again – she would fight, even if it killed her. They were stopping her from being a mother, and they had no right. This time, when she spoke, Christine didn't look at Cissy, she simply stared straight ahead, her eyes misting again.

"Just bring them to me, please."

* * *

Erik stared at the door in front of him, his fists clenching. This was it, the door to Raoul's room. Henry, with his charm and his reputation, had easily acquired the number and the fact that Raoul was, indeed, there. He took a breath and, with Henry waiting to one side, out of sight, he reached out and rapped on the door.

After a moment, a voice called out. _"Yes?"_

Erik cleared his throat, keeping his voice neutral. "A letter for you, sir!"

There was another pause, then: _"Fine, come in."_

He was about to open the door, when Henry put a hand on his arm. "Take it easy in there."

Erik nodded and then stepped through the door. He closed it quietly behind him. Raoul was leaning over a table, his hands resting on its surface, looking over something Erik couldn't quite see.

"Just leave it on the side there, would you?" Raoul instructed, not turning round.

"I'd rather not, Vicomte."

Raoul froze. Then, he straightened and slowly turned around, his face a mixture of anger and fright. "What are you doing here? Get out, now, before I call down for help."

"I don't think so, do you? Just popped by for a friendly _chat_, Vicomte. You see…" he moved closer to him, Raoul shrinking back against the table, "my wife has been taken ill…"

"Christine's ill?"

"Ah, so you do still care?"

Raoul stared scornfully at him. "Of course I care, don't be ridiculous, man."

"Oh, a 'man' now, am I? Why, just the other day you were telling Christine that I was still just a monster. That we weren't fit for society. Seems to me, that if you truly cared about her, you wouldn't have upset her. How fickle your mind is."

"I'm not proud of that," Raoul said, moving away from the table and edging towards the door. Erik twirled round, blocking Raoul's path. The man scowled at him. "I'm not proud of that, but I _am _sorry for it. However, I still contest that you are, indeed, a monster."

At that, Erik's temper flared, and he pushed Raoul back into the wall. Raoul cried out in alarm, his hands trying to push Erik's away, but Erik was much too strong for him.

"Not doing much to dispel that line of thought, are you, _Opera Ghost_?"

"You listen to me, you sniveling excuse for a man – you listen, and then tell me you wouldn't react in the same way. Ever since the wedding the other day my wife has been a nervous wreck. She's barely slept, she hardly eats. When she _does _sleep she has terrible nightmares and wakes up screaming. Yesterday, she was so exhausted, she dropped a tea pot and scalded herself. She's anxious and frightened and she won't tell me why, will tell nothing of her nightmares." He shoved Raoul, making him bounce away from the wall before hitting it again, his hands dangerously close to his throat. "Last night, she was so frantic, so inconsolable, that, against her will, I had to call the doctor out. Against her will, I had to restrain her in order for the doctor to administer a sedative so that she could sleep. Do you have any idea what that felt like?" he said, voice a low snarl, his face barely inches from Raoul's. "Do have any idea how it felt to have to ignore her begging, to have to ignore her tears, to have to feel her fight against you, terrified? And it is _you, _Vicomte, who has made her this way, so tell me this: When you went to leave and she ran after you, what did you say to her?"

Raoul, who was now looking pale and sickly, a sheen of perspiration covering his face, went weak against Erik's grasp. Erik let him go and took a step back, following the Raoul with his eyes as he stumbled into a nearby chair. He looked wretched. "I am truly sorry that she is so unwell, that she is suffering so. But I don't understand how anything I could have said would have affected her so terribly."

"That's not what I asked," Erik said, moving in front of him. He bent down, hands pressing against the armrests, looming over him again. "What did you say to her?"

Raoul sighed. "I said… I… I told her to keep an eye on the front page of the papers."

"And why was that? Because it wouldn't have been your engagement that upset her, believe me. You must have said something else."

"I didn't, I swear it."

Erik continued to stare at him, taking pleasure in intimidating him, his mind working to put everything together. "Then what could she have taken from that that made her react in such a way? She collapsed, just after you left. She was white as a sheet and… Oh." Finally, it clicked.

"Oh?" Raoul inquired, trying to push himself as far back into his chair as possible.

Erik, however, straightened and took a step back. "Oh, my dear Vicomte, you stupid, stupid man." He was even angrier, now, his voice adopting a sense of calm that was completely terrifying – the calm before the storm. "You meant to frighten her, didn't you? So enraged were you at that moment, having been shown up, that you decided to frighten her."

"What do you mean?" But the look on Raoul's face suggested that he knew _exactly _what Erik meant.

"I think you know the answer to that. You tell my wife that we should have stayed hidden, that we should be _ashamed, _and then you tell her to look out for the papers? Are you really that dense? You meant to frighten her, you meant to make her believe that you were going to tell them the truth about us, didn't you?"

"I…"

"DIDN'T YOU?" Erik pulled Raoul out of his chair and threw him to the floor, pouncing on him.

"I never meant to!"

"So you don't deny it?"

There was a rattle, the door handle turning, but the door itself wouldn't open. Erik had swiftly locked it behind him, not wanting Henry to come barging in.

Raoul looked petrified. "I wasn't in my right mind. I was angry, humiliated and shocked. Yes, it's true, I _didn't _expect you to be living so easy a life, to be welcomed so warmly into society. But what I said, I didn't mean. Yes, I said it to unnerve her, in the heat of the moment, but I never expected her to react so strongly to it. I didn't think-"

"That's your problem, Vicomte – you never think!" Erik's hands tightened around Raoul's neck, the man spluttering, his face going red.

The door rattled again.

One last squeeze, and Erik let Raoul go, watching him with satisfaction as he coughed and struggled to breathe. "If my wife – yes, _my wife_ – doesn't recover, you _will _pay, I assure you."

"Who is… who is that at the door?"

"Never you mind. You are to write an apology to her, and you will do everything in your power to make her realise that you are not out to ruin us. You will _not _mention that I was here. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, fine," Raoul said, hoarsely, sitting up and rubbing his throat.

Erik smiled down at him unpleasantly. "One more thing – If we have the misfortune to see you again, if you ever glare at my daughter, an innocent baby, as you did, ever again, if you upset my son ever again, I will have your head. Do you understand?"

Raoul nodded, but it wasn't good enough for the angry impresario. With the toe of his boot, he forced Raoul's chin up, making him look him in the eyes. "Is. That. Under_stood, _Vicomte?"

"Yes!"

"Good." He turned to leave. "Oh, by the way – we met your fiancée, yesterday. She came round to apologise on your behalf. Sweet, naive little thing. Be good to her, won't you?" It wasn't a request.

Raoul said nothing, just stared at him in surprise.

Erik nodded. "Farewell, Vicomte. Hurry along with that letter, now – 902 Fifth Avenue." With that, he let himself out, leaving the door open a little so Henry could just see the shocked Vicomte still sitting on the floor. "See? He's fine," he said, and pulled the door closed.

"You were lucky no one came along," Henry berated. "You were awfully loud at times. I had to stop myself from calling your name through the door lest anyone heard it. Did you get what you needed?"

"I did," Erik replied, his façade slipping slightly now he wasn't face to face with Raoul, the enormity of what Christine was facing inside her mind winding him. He sighed heavily. "My poor girl."

* * *

It had been Christine's idea to go for a walk. After spending time with her children, she needed to get out of the house. She couldn't breathe, the guilt she felt suffocating her. Emilie had been fine – Christine had held her in her arms and the little girl had smiled at her, and that smile had helped, slightly, to make her feel better. She seemed perfectly well and calm, and she was grateful she'd done no lasting damage to her. Gustave, on the other hand, had looked sad and worried and on the verge of tears, and Christine had wrapped him in a hug and kissed his head and told him she was sorry, that she would be fine. He'd clung to her, telling her it wasn't her fault she was ill. But she wasn't ill, was she? She was just tired and worried – her family's future was being threatened, and she was terrified.

After Francine had taken the children away for lunch, Cissy had had their own lunch brought up so that Christine didn't have to get out of bed. She hadn't managed much, her stomach still churning, the ever present mix of nausea and nerves making it impossible to swallow much of anything. She'd managed some soup (which Mary had made with chicken and every vegetable know to man, to get some goodness in her), had slowly drunk her tea, but that had been it.

Cissy hadn't been too keen when Christine had suggested a walk in the park, but she'd been insistent. How bizarre to suggest she couldn't manage a simple walk? She'd needed to clear her head, anyway. She was still, despite what Cissy had said, upset at her husband's betrayal. How could she face him, now? All she'd done was try and protect her family, and he'd had her sedated, like she was mad, like she was some out-of-control animal. She was vaguely aware of having asked Cissy when she'd first woken what was happening to her, but now she realised it wasn't her, it was everyone else. Being tired wasn't a crime, was it? Because that's all they thought it was. Exhaustion, which had brought on nightmares – that's all they knew. Why was that so terrible? She felt so confused. She had to pull herself together.

Christine refused to hold onto Cissy's arm as they walked. She didn't need help; she was fine, absolutely fine. The reality, though, is that whilst _she _thought she was fine, everyone else could clearly see that she wasn't. There weren't many people in their part of the park, but those who saw them glanced at Christine sympathetically as they passed, her sickly pallor and unsteady gait obvious to them.

"Voir? Je me sens beaucoup mieux maintenant."

"Pardon?" Cissy asked, looking at her with a slight frown. "I'm sorry, my French was never very good."

Christine wasn't even aware that she _had_ spoken in French. "Sorry," she said, correcting herself. "I said I feel much better now." For a moment, she must have thought Erik was with her. How odd.

"Oh, that's good," Cissy smiled, but it wasn't very convincing. "Are you ready to go back?"

"No, no, this is nice – isn't it? A little cold, but quite refreshing."

"Erm, yes, I suppose it is."

They walked on a little further, passing a small group of women who were chatting and laughing. Christine frowned. Had they said her name? She turned back to look at them. They were still laughing. One of them caught Christine's eye and she turned away hurriedly. She stopped walking and took a deep breath to steady herself.

"Christine?"

"Yes?" She replied, shortly.

"What's wrong? Do you need to sit?"

"No, Cissy! Please, stop fussing."

Cissy looked wounded, but quickly recovered. "I'm sorry, my darling. Come on, let's carry on. We'll walk round the pond."

They continued, but Christine's distress got steadily worse, and soon she couldn't control it.

_Freak…_

"What? What did you say?" Christine demanded, rounding on an innocent young man who had been walking by alone.

"I'm sorry?" he replied, startled at the sight of an obviously unwell woman suddenly right in his face.

"Christine!" Cissy went to pull her away. "He didn't say _anything. _Please, forgive her," she implored, "she's sick. She meant no offense."

"No, no, that's quite all right. Maybe she shouldn't be out in the cold, though."

"I wanted some air," Christine supplied, looking at the man distrustfully.

"Ah, well, then. Don't stay out too long, mind – looks like it's going to snow." He tipped his hat. "Ma'am."

Cissy smiled at him, then took Christine's arm and led her away. "Christine, you can't go around accusing complete strangers of talking about you. That poor young man."

"I was certain…"

They passed a middle-aged couple and Christine whimpered, breathless, tears pricking her eyes. They'd been muttering to each other, looking at her…

_He deserves to die…_

"No…" she whispered.

Cissy shook her head. "No arguing, now, I'm taking you home."

Christine looked at her pleadingly, taking her friend's hands. "Cissy, make them stop!"

"Make who stop? Christine…"

Everywhere she turned, there seemed to be more and more people, more and more voices.

_We should kill him…_

_Murderer…_

_Liars and cheats!_

_How can she walk about as if they've done nothing wrong?_

_How dare she show her face…_

_We're coming to get him…_

_We're coming to get all of you…_

Christine opened her mouth to scream, but found she couldn't make a sound. Her head was spinning, the world blurring. She was aware of someone calling her name and then…

Nothing.

* * *

"I really shouldn't have stayed out this long…"

"Erik, it's only been a couple of hours. Look at you; you're worn out from worrying. You needed a bit of time to yourself. You're not going to be any good to Christine if you run yourself into the ground."

"I could have eaten a perfectly good lunch at home."

Henry sighed. "Cissy is with her – I'm sure nothing drastic has happened in that time."

Erik put his key in the front door and turned it. "Yes, I suppose you're right." He let them in, and had barely hung his coat before Cissy ran down the stairs towards him, looking frantic.

"Oh, thank God!"

"What? What's happened?" Erik asked, panicked.

"We were in the park-"

"What?"

"She insisted, I couldn't stop her! But she became paranoid, convinced people were talking about her, and then she fainted. A passerby helped me get her home."

"Did you call the doctor?"

Cissy shook her head, looking ashamed. "No..."

"Good." Erik ran, taking the stairs two at a time. When he reached the bedroom, he entered quietly, not sure if Christine was even awake.

She was.

She was sat up in bed, propped against the pillows, the edge of the covers in her hands as she pulled at them and twisted them nervously. She looked to him and her lip wobbled. Erik reached her in three long strides and sat down on the bed.

"My dear, sweet girl..."

She edged away from him.

It was like an arrow through his heart. "Christine..." He tried to take her hand, but she wouldn't let him.

"You..." she started, her voice cracking. "You deceived me..."

"Christine, no..."

"You held me down, you let him... you..." She sobbed, and he reached forward, pulling her into his arms. She fought against him.

"No! No... You didn't stop him, you didn't stop him, and then I'm told that I can't feed my baby - I'm her _mother_! How could you? How could..." her breath caught in her throat, and she continued to try and push her husband away, weakening rapidly.

"Shhhh, my darling, please, I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry..."

She became limp, then, a dead weight against him, a terrible wail of despair falling from her lips.

He couldn't hold back anymore; he cried with her. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he murmured into her hair, over and over. This wasn't right, this wasn't how things were supposed to be.

"Everyone is talking about us!" Christine sobbed against him. "Everyone knows! They want us dead!"

"My darling, no one is talking about us, no one knows anything." He had to tell her. He hadn't been expecting anything like this and it chilled him to the bone. He couldn't wait for Raoul – he had to confess to her what he'd done, before she completely lost her mind. He sniffed, trying to regain control of his voice so he could speak clearly and steadily. He took her face in his hands. "Christine, listen to me..."

She dropped her head and he lifted it back up. She looked devastated, her shoulder's heaving, her breathing shallow and quick. He kissed her forehead. "Please, angel, I have something very important to tell you."

"Wh-what is it? They know, th-they all know!"

"No, my love, no. Listen – I went to see Raoul-"

"What?"

"_Please, _Christine. You wouldn't tell me what he'd said, and I was so worried about you that I had no choice but to go to him and find out. The papers, it was about the papers – he told you to keep an eye on them, didn't he?"

Christine nodded, choking on her tears. Erik had expected her to shout at him. He'd been certain that she would be beyond angry with him, but now she just looked defeated, too overwrought.

"He was angry and he said it to frighten you, but he was never going to act on it and he never will, I _promise _you. He wouldn't dare," he said, trying not to sound furious. He wanted to beat that man to within an inch of his life, make him suffer more than he ever knew was possible. He took a breath. "I swear, Christine, he won't say a word."

"He will, he will, he'll ruin us! They already know!"

"_No_, Christine, they don't. Please believe me."

"How can I?" She cried. "After what you did!"

Erik broke down again. "I didn't... I had no choice. I didn't know what else to do. I was _scared_, Christine. You were terrified and crying and I could barely get through to you. I just wanted to take the pain away – I didn't want you to be frightened anymore. Please... Don't you trust me?"

Christine stared at him, her face soaked. And then, behind those red-raw eyes, something registered. They widened, and suddenly Christine pushed herself upwards, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face against it. "I do, oh, I do! I trust you more than anything!"

Erik couldn't even begin to explain how relieved he was to hear that. He hugged her tight, rocking her as she wept against him.

"I-I don't want them to find us..."

Erik's heart sank again. This wasn't going to be as easy as he thought. "Let me take you to Coney. It'll be quieter and the sea air will do you some good."

"Leave here?"

"Just for a few days. You love it there. Please? You trust me, so you know I won't let anything happen."

Christine was silent for a moment, and he hoped it was because she was thinking it over.

"The children, too?"

He knew she wouldn't go without them. He'd just have to hope that getting away would calm her down. It wasn't her fault, but he didn't want them getting upset.

"Yes, of course." He stroked her hair. "You will be perfectly safe, I promise. I love you and the children far too much to let anything happen to you."

"I don't think even you can stop the masses," she said, regretfully.

Erik looked at her sadly. His poor wife. He would right this, he swore it. He _would _rescue her, be her knight, bring her back to him, to their children, to their _life_.


	20. Chapter 20

**Gah, I'm so sorry about the huge gap in updating! I've had so much going on, and my illness was worse for a while as well, so I've only had the chance to write a little bit at a time. Now I have a whole chapter, although it's a little short. Sorry about that. Also been caught up in watching the Olympics :D**

**Many thanks to my regular reviewers, and hello and thank you to my new reviewers! Much appreciated.**

**I hope everyone is still with me. No matter how long I take to update, I promise I won't abandon the story! Off we go...**

* * *

The last thing Erik wanted to do was lull himself into a false sense of security, but it was very easy, at that moment, to just close his eyes and pretend nothing had ever happened.

They'd arrived at Coney with no drama. Erik had packed a bag for them, Cissy had helped to get the children ready, and they'd left early that evening. He'd given the staff strict instructions to have any letters that arrived sent straight to Phantasma, had smiled and nodded politely as they gave him their best wishes, worried as they also were about their mistress, who had spent the rest of the day in relative silence, a faraway look in her eyes. The carriage ride had been uneventful, but the atmosphere had been melancholy. Gustave had curled into his mother's side, his arms around her waist, and she'd held him tight, but neither had said a word. Even Emilie hadn't pierced the quiet by gurgling away, sleeping peacefully in her father's arms.

Once on the Island, however, there had been a brief, flicker of life from Christine. Erik had approached her with their daughter and the promise that in the morning, she would be able to feed her again. Christine, the ghost of a smile on her pale lips, had cuddled Emilie and given her a kiss and accepted the bottle that Erik had given her, looking sad again as the baby sucked at the teat. He felt terrible that he'd taken that choice away from her, had made her unable to nourish their child from her own breast, but as guilty as he felt, he knew that it was the only thing he could have done, for the sake of her health and her sanity.

Now, the children in bed, they were curled up together on the rug in front of the fire in the living room, a mound of cushions propping them up. He'd just wanted to hold her, to make her feel safe, and she'd fallen asleep in his embrace relatively quickly, for which he had been eternally grateful. He hadn't seen her this calm in what seemed like forever, and he relished in stroking her hair and dropping gentle kisses against her head, the warmth of the fire and its orange glow blissfully comforting. However, it wasn't to last. Soon, Christine started to whimper, her face screwing up as she sobbed in her sleep. Erik held her tighter and ran a hand up and down her arm, whispering soothingly in her ear, hoping to get her nightmare to stop and keep her asleep. She struggled a little, her distress worsening.

"No…" she murmured, tears beginning to leak from under her eyelids.

"Shhhh, Christine, I'm here, you're safe…"

"No… Erik… Don't hurt him…"

Erik frowned - did she mean _he _was hurting someone, or someone was hurting _him_? This was the first time he'd been awake _during _her nightmares, and he rocked her and listened intently at the same time, trying to get some clue as to just what was playing out in her mind.

"Erik! Don't leave me… Don't take my husband! Please… please don't…"

"I'm here, my darling, I'm right here, shhhh…"

"He's not… not a monster… I love him… No… No!"

"Christine, please…"

"Don't kill him…" she whispered, before sobbing harshly.

Erik's eyes dampened - he felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. He gently turned Christine over so that she was facing him. He kissed her face and stroked her cheek, still whispering to her, still reassuring her that he was safe, that he wasn't going anywhere. Is this what had been happening every night? Was he dying every night in her dreams, being hounded and taken away from his family, leaving them destroyed? He bit his lip. How dare Raoul do this to her, make her sick with worry, make her dream such devastating dreams. "They won't, Christine," he urged, still rocking her. "I won't leave you, I won't ever leave you, my sweet girl…"

Finally, Christine started to calm. Her sobs subsided, her body relaxed, the tension drained away. Erik breathed a sigh of relief. He decided, that if it meant less stress on her body and mind, he'd stay awake long after her every night, ready to soothe her back into a restful sleep if need be, calm her before she became overcome and woke in terror.

"Erik?"

A sleepy, unsure voice reached his ears, but before he could say anything, Christine had pushed herself up and claimed his lips in a searing kiss. He did nothing at first, a little taken aback, not wanting to take advantage of her. Then his brain kicked in. She was his _wife_, she'd been distressed, she wanted comfort, to know he was there, to know he always would be. He kissed her back.

"You're still here," Christine whispered, lips brushing against his as she spoke.

"Of course I am. I always will be," he promised.

"I won't let them take you, I won't let them take our babies - I'll die before they do."

Erik pulled away from her. "Christine, don't speak like that, my love. Nothing is going to happen to any of us."

Her lower lip trembled. "You don't _know _that."

"_Please_, Christine-" He was cut off as she kissed him again. She grabbed his hand and placed it to her breast. He tried to remove it, but she protested, holding it there.

"Make love to me," she begged, a pleading whisper against his mouth.

It wasn't that he didn't want to, wasn't that he didn't want her - he _always _wanted her _- _but he wanted her to sleep. "Christine…" His body was reacting to her, even as he tried to resist.

"_Please_," she implored, pulling him into a fierce kiss. "I want you… Stay with me, always," she said, her breath hitching in her throat, her voice breaking.

"Shhhh, I'm not going anywhere, I promise…"

"_Please…_"

Erik knew how much Christine loved him, knew that she did without question, knew that she loved him deeply and unconditionally, to the heart of her very soul. It still amazed him that she did, but he never doubted it. But, seeing her like this, upset and begging him, hearing her declare her love for him in her sleep, straight from her subconscious, was overwhelming. He'd give her anything she wanted and now he couldn't deny her. He felt hands at the waistband of his pajama trousers, pushing them down, and he didn't stop her. Erik knew that her plight was far from over, but for now, if it helped her, he would give her whatever she wanted. Erik pushed up Christine's nightgown, a hand skimming up the soft skin of her thighs, and she moaned softly, reaching for him as he moved over her. He made love to her slowly and gently, holding her as she trembled beneath him, peppering her face with kisses, and afterwards, when she'd fallen asleep, he carried her to bed, tucked her in, and simply watched her before sleep finally claimed him, too.

* * *

The air was cold and damp. Rolling sea mist spread across the shoreline, tiny droplets of water that clung to her skin and hair. She shivered. She could remember leaving the hotel, but couldn't remember why or how she'd ended up on the beach, her feet only inches from the gently lapping waves. Christine rubbed her arms to warm herself. She'd been lost in thought when she'd wandered onto the sand, her mind buzzing with so many different things. She felt strange – on the one hand, she was happy that her motherly duties had been restored to her, but on the other… She closed her eyes and sighed. She wanted to believe so badly that everything was all right, that nothing bad was coming their way, but she just couldn't. Christine put a hand to her stomach, but the butterflies would not rest. Had she told Erik she was going out? Or had she just left without a word? She smiled a little. Her husband. He did everything for her. Last night she'd needed him, had needed to feel him, to lose herself in him, had needed to know that he was really there. He was safe and warm, and his arms were a protective shield, and she could pretend, for a while, that everything was ok, that nothing and no one was going to hurt them or their children.

Coney was eerily quiet. There was the occasional squawk from a seagull, the soothing sound of the water rushing up the beach before being dragged back out again, the whispering of the gentle breeze, but apart from that, there was nothing. No people, no dogs barking, no clip-clopping up and down the road or the rumble of wheels as horses pulled carriages, not even the sound of the occasional motor car. She was completely alone, _they_ were completely alone – for now. Because how long would it be before everyone found out? Before they found _them_?

"Christine!"

Christine screamed and spun round with her arms up, ready to lash out at whoever had crept up on her, but before she could, the hands of someone much stronger than her grabbed her arms and held her still. Her frightened eyes met theirs. "Erik!"

"Christine…"

Christine found herself being pulled into a fierce embrace.

"What have I said about walking out on your own like that? For goodness sake, Christine, are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"I'm not a child," Christine snapped, pulling back from him, "and it's daylight."

"That's not the point." Erik sighed. "I'm sorry. I left the room for a few minutes to check on the children and when I got back you weren't there – you weren't _anywhere_. Oh, Christine…" Erik pulled off his coat when he noticed his wife was shivering in just her dress and placed it round her shoulders. "Would you have minded if _I'd _just walked out without saying a word?"

Christine hung her head and wrapped Erik's coat closer around her. She hadn't even realised she'd left without one. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I don't even know…"

Erik tipped her chin up gently. "Know what?"

She shook her head. "You'll think me mad."

"Never," he reassured, brushing the back of his fingers against her cheek.

Christine looked at him, embarrassed. "I… I don't know what I'm doing here. I remember leaving and then suddenly I was here and I don't know why. I know I was thinking a lot, but still, a person can think and know of where they are headed – it was as if I blinked and suddenly I was here. Isn't that odd?"

Erik smiled fondly at her and stroked a hand through her curls. "No, my love. Lost in thought, I've done it myself."

She frowned, dissatisfied. "You had no idea at all? You didn't even remember the walk? Not even a bit of it? Because that's surely not normal, is it? I can't…" Christine put a hand to her head and closed her eyes.

"Darling, don't, please…"

"We should go back – the children are on their own."

"They're fine, Christine. Emilie is having a nap and Gustave is keeping an eye on her. But yes, we should get you inside, before you freeze."

"I suppose." Christine stared for a moment at the hand her husband offered her, then took it, squeezing it tight. "It's so quiet, isn't it? How long will it last?"

"Christine…" Erik kissed her hand. "It will be all right."

She forced a smile. The world around her had quickly turned into a very frightening place, their lives on a knife edge. They were living on borrowed time, and she feared that time would soon run out. She'd been naive, foolish to think that they could have a 'happy ever after'.

Whilst Raoul was around, that would be impossible.

* * *

All day, Erik had been trying to approach Christine about her dream, but he'd always lose his nerve at the last moment. That wasn't like him at all, but he was desperately trying to think of a way to mention it without upsetting her and nothing seemed good enough. In the end, he wasn't surprised when she snapped at him – the fact that he'd been irritating her by so obviously wanting to say something and then backtracking at the last second had not gone unnoticed.

"For goodness sake, Erik, if you have something to say would you please just get on with it! Your faltering is driving me mad."

He looked at her sheepishly. "Sorry." He sighed and sat down heavily next to her on the sofa. "Last night… When you had your nightmare, you were talking in your sleep…"

Christine opened her mouth, then closed it again, saying nothing. She looked terrified.

Erik took her hands in his. "It's ok…"

"No." She pulled her hands away. "You obviously know, so I don't wish to discuss it further."

"Christine!" Erik held onto her tightly. This had to stop. "Why are you so afraid to talk to me?"

She shook her head. "Let me go." She pulled again, and he held on as tightly as he could without hurting her.

"Darling, please…"

"Let GO!" Christine yanked her hand away so forcefully that she nearly fell off the sofa. Red faced, she stood up and stormed away, flinging open the doors that led to the balcony, letting in a blast of icy air. Erik jumped up and went after her, stopping in the doorway, a hand on each side of the frame. He stared at her back, sadly.

"Christine, it's freezing," he said, softly. "Come inside."

Christine's hands gripped at the railing. Her head was bowed and her shoulders were shaking. It was only when she let out a sob that Erik realised it wasn't just because she was cold. Her legs gave way, and he caught her before she hit the floor, bringing her back inside. He held her for what seemed like a lifetime, and was concentrating so hard on calming her that he nearly jumped when she finally spoke.

"They took you from me," she whispered. "They took you, and they took me, and they took our babies." Her voice wavered a little, but she carried on, looking straight ahead into the fireplace. Erik said nothing, afraid that she would stop if he did. But his heart broke. "They found out about our past, they hunted us down. They threw me in the gutter; the children disappeared. Every time I tried to search for them, and every time I failed. And you…" She turned to him, then, but her eyes were distant. "Each time it's different. I always try and get to you, but I never do. I'm always too late. You…" her breath hitched, tears rolling down her cheeks. "You were hanged. You were shot in the head. You were tortured, burned and stabbed and left to bleed to death. Someone slit your throat." Christine gagged, coughing. She fell forward and Erik grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back upright, lifting her head so she could breathe better. He was stunned. He was sickened. It didn't matter that they had been dreams – what she'd seen horrified him. Christine sobbed again, her body shaking. "I always held you. I was never able to save you but I always held you. People would shout and spit at us, but I held you close and sang to you. Oh, God, there was so much blood…"

Tears welled in Erik's eyes, not at the thought of dying so horrifically, but of the violence she'd witnessed, the devastation she'd gone through over and over again, the sheer terror of not being able to find their children. In her mind everything had been so vivid, so real. Christine looked like she was going to be sick. Erik shifted and took her face gently in his hands. "Christine…" he breathed, trying to compose himself. He knew how it felt to watch someone you love die because for a moment, before he'd known otherwise, Christine herself had died in his arms, blood seeping from her, her life drained away. But to have people mocking you whilst you held that person, to have seen them die in the most horrific way, was something he couldn't comprehend. He never wanted to have to, but if he could take away from Christine what she'd seen, put it in his head and make it so it had never existed in hers, he'd do it in a heartbeat. "Oh, my love. Listen to me. I'm so sorry that in your dreams you had to see something so vile and frightening, that people were so vicious and cruel, that you suffered so much hurt. But I _promise _you, no one is going to destroy us." He stared at her earnestly until she looked at him. "It's not real, darling," he whispered, "none of it is real. It's your mind playing tricks on you, because of _him_. You have to believe me – Raoul said it to be spiteful, not to act on it. Now, you know how much I despise the man, so would I _ever_ take his word if I thought he didn't mean it?"

Christine, tears silently rolling down her face, shook her head. "It's not that I don't want to believe you, but even without him, there's still a chance that people could find out somehow. There's always been that chance. I ignored it for so long, keeping it locked away in the back of my mind, but it's always been there, and it always will be. I was stupid to think we could ever live happily ever after, so naive, so… so…" She wept and fell against her husband, who wrapped his arms around her tightly.

"It's all right, it'll be all right. I promise, Christine, I _promise_. Just come back to me, my sweet girl, _please_ come back to me…"

* * *

As Christine slept, Erik spent hours pondering over what she'd told him, sitting up in bed and staring ahead at the wall. When he finally moved, his eyes fell straight on Emilie's cradle, and he was surprised to see she was awake, eyes wide, chewing happily on her hand. He smiled, and instantly moved to pick her up, needing her in his arms. "Hello, little princess," he whispered, holding her up in front of his face and kissing the tip of her nose. Emilie smiled around her hand, then removed it and reached to grab her father's collar, tiny wet fingers brushing against his neck. Erik chuckled softly. "Thank you for that, young lady." He glanced at Christine, who hadn't stirred. She looked peaceful, and that was such a rarity at the moment that he decided not to wake her. "Are you hungry? Don't tell mama I've given you a bottle, will you? She needs to sleep, but even so, she'll still be mad at me, so this will be our little secret."

Erik slipped out of the room with her and soon found that, unusually, she wasn't hungry at all and was quite happy to suck on her fingers and stare at her papa and their immediate surroundings inquisitively. Erik carried her over to the doors which lead out onto the balcony, holding Emilie so that she could see through the glass.

"You know, in the summer, this darkness will all be lit up. Just wait until you see all the lights."

Emilie smiled up at him. He smiled back adoringly. That beautiful face and those big, blue eyes. How he loved her. He sighed. "You have no idea how lucky you are, not being able to comprehend what's going on. I wish it could be the same for your brother. But he's done a very good job at helping to look after you. I'm so blessed to have you both, but I'm so sorry that my past has caused all this pain. I should tell your mother that, but I'm scared. Not of her, but scared that she'll realise what a mistake she's made. I know you don't understand, and that's what makes this easier, but I really should tell her as well, shouldn't I? If I hadn't been who I was, if I hadn't… If I'd kept to myself, had left her be, she wouldn't be going through this now. And yet, on the other hand, if that were so, we wouldn't have you and Gustave, and that doesn't even bear thinking about. I am both blessed and cursed at the same time, little one." Emilie yawned, her eyes closing. Erik laughed quietly. "Well, that's told me," he said, as his daughter's head rolled against his shoulder. He put a hand to the back of it and stroked her soft, downy hair, pressing a kiss against it. "A part of me wishes you could stay this small forever, that I won't have to watch you grow into a woman and give you away to another man. But whatever happens, I will always be your papa and you will always be my baby girl. Always. Whenever you or your brother need me, I'll be there, and so will your mother – I promise."

"You'll never be a mistake."

Erik whirled round, careful not to wake Emilie as he did. There, in the doorway, stood a damp-eyed Christine. She sniffed and he moved towards her, a hand reaching out to her. "Come here."

Christine walked forward and took it, squeezing it tightly. "Please don't think that, because you're not."

"You heard all of that?"

"Yes." Christine looked down at her daughter, then back up at her husband. "We're so lucky. The children and I – we're so lucky to have you. You do everything for us. Please don't think you're a mistake, because you're not."

Erik tilted his head and kissed her gently. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, my love. Now, come back to bed."

Erik followed her out, but something was bothering him. "Christine?"

She stopped and turned to face him. "Yes?"

"Are you… all right?"

Christine smiled softly at him, "Of course," then continued on her way.

"Christine?"

"Mmmm?"

"Did you… Did I wake you when I left the room? I tried to be quiet." A sudden stab of guilt shot though him. Had it been another nightmare? He'd promised himself he'd be there to pull her out of it, just like he had the night before. Oh, God…

She shook her head. "No, nothing woke me."

"Oh, good." He breathed a sigh of relief, but, in that moment, Erik didn't know what to think. Apart from looking upset at hearing what he'd said, Christine was being… He couldn't even think of a word for it.

He resigned himself to waiting for what the morning would bring.

* * *

**Please R&R :) In the next chapter we'll finally get Raoul's letter, and perhaps a visit from the Girys!**


	21. Chapter 21

**Lovely reviews, thank you! I actually decided to leave Raoul and the Girys out of this chapter in the end - I'm sorry! But they will definitely appear in the next chapter.**

**I've been very tired the last few days, and even though I have read this chapter through, if you spot any mistakes please let me know :)**

* * *

Erik opened his eyes, his line of sight directly on Christine's side of the bed. She wasn't there. Normally, this wouldn't bother Erik - they often rose at different times, after all - but anything his wife did at the moment had him worried, delicate as she was. Who was to say that she hadn't wandered off again? Erik pushed back the covers and hurried out of bed… And noticed that his daughter wasn't in her cradle. He sighed and ran his hands over his unmasked face. Of course - Christine was seeing to their daughter, and, going by the time on the clock, giving Gustave his breakfast. He'd slept later than usual, but he knew that wasn't surprising, considering how late he'd been up. Still, he needed to see for himself before he was fully satisfied that nothing was wrong, so he quickly slipped into his robe and made his way to the dining room. He was almost there when he heard laughter drifting down the hall, his son giggling and his wife breathless along with him, and he sped up, rounding the doorway and seeing Christine and Gustave sat at the table, playing with Emilie, who was smiling and…

His mouth fell open.

The most beautiful, sweet sound reached his ears. Emilie was _laughing_! Well, not a full, proper laugh, not yet, but an adorable, little giggle escaped her lips, and every time it did, Christine and Gustave would laugh, too, which made Emilie do it again, like it was a game.

"Darling!" Christine exclaimed, noticing him and standing up, a quick kiss pressed to his lips as she reached him. "Did you hear her?!"

Erik reached for her and Christine passed her over, smiling widely as she did so, and what a beautiful thing that was, too, to see his wife so happy, so alive. What a perfect situation to wake up to. Emilie took the opportunity to stick her fingers into her father's mouth, and the humorous noise her father made in response evoked that glorious sound again. "You clever, clever girl!"

"Just wait until she's able to laugh properly - it's the most precious thing you'll ever hear. I swear Gustave used to get fed up with me trying to make him laugh after a while - one time he cried instead!"

Erik chuckled and Gustave, who was still sitting at the table finishing his breakfast, grinned around his fork.

"Morning, papa."

"Good morning, son. Don't speak with your mouth full."

"Sorry," he replied, before swallowing.

Erik shook his head, still smiling, and looked at Christine, who was beaming at him. He reached a hand out to touch her face. "You look beautiful today."

"Don't I always?" she asked, looking demurely at him, her blue eyes shining.

"Of course. Happy anniversary, my love."

"Oh, I was worried you'd forgotten!"

"Forgotten? How could I ever forget something like that? Wait a second." Erik took Emilie over to her brother. "Watch your sister a moment," he said, handing the still happy baby over to Gustave, who took her obediently. "Come with me." He took Christine's hand and led her out of the room and into the hall. "There was so much I wanted to do for you today, but I was worried-"

"It's all right," Christine cut in, taking his face in her hands. "I know I've been difficult. It doesn't matter, honestly."

Erik turned his head and pressed a kiss to her wrist. "You've not been difficult, don't say such things. None of this has been your fault. But listen, I do have _something_…"

Christine smiled. "What?"

Erik winked at her. "Wait and see. This evening I have something very special for you."

"You do?" Christine asked, winding her arms around his neck.

"I do."

"Well then. Happy anniversary." She kissed him, and then pulled away with a happy sigh. "Can you believe we've been married a whole year?"

Erik shook his head, his hands at Christine's waist. "No. But I'm not complaining," he murmured against her lips before kissing her soundly. Then his stomach rumbled. Christine pulled away, laughing.

"Go and eat. I'll dress, and then we can take the children for a walk."

But as she disappeared, Erik _still _had the feeling that all was not right.

* * *

"Isn't it a lovely day? We've been so lucky with the weather… Gustave! Not so close!"

"Sorry, mother!" Gustave called out, not looking at her and running towards and then away from the next wave to come rolling up the beach.

"That boy will be the death of me. I know he can swim, now, but he could still get swept out to sea. Should I call him over?"

Erik smiled as his son dodged another wave, and then turned to face his wife. "Leave him be – it's not rough out today, he'll be fine. Shall we sit here?" He gestured to the bench they were coming up to along the promenade and waited until Christine had sat down before sitting himself. He held out his hand and she took it with a smile.

They sat in silence for a while, and again Erik was able to let himself believe that nothing was wrong. The reality was, however, that he was even more worried now than he had been when Christine had been upset and sleepless. It wasn't something she could just recover from overnight. It drove him mad that he couldn't get inside her head, couldn't see how her mind was working or what she was truly thinking.

The baby fussed and Christine rocked the pram back and forth, attempting to settle her. Erik watched her closely, then looked down at his hands and sighed quietly. This wasn't what he'd wanted for their first wedding anniversary. He hadn't wanted his wife unwell, to be so unhappy and scared. He'd planned to take her out to dinner and then onto the theatre, to spoil her and cater to her every whim. He knew she didn't really care about all that, but he liked doing it for her, relished in it, because he'd never had the opportunity before, and now, in less than a year-and-a-half, he had a wife and two children and he now had something to do with all that money he'd made. It didn't matter, though, he knew that – it was only really bothering him because it meant that Christine was not in good health, that she was still suffering.

Emilie's fussing turned into loud wailing and Christine, alarmed, moved to pick her up. "My darling, what's wrong?" But as soon as Emilie was in her mother's arms, she stopped crying. Her little face, which had been scrunched up, relaxed, and she looked about her, smiling when she caught her father's eye. Both Erik and Christine laughed.

"Not giving you enough attention are we, little one?" Erik said, wiping away the tears still clinging to the baby's cheeks. Emilie grabbed his finger and bit down on it.

"That'll be a 'yes', then," Christine smiled, kissing the top of her daughter's head. Then her face fell.

"What is it?"

She shook her head, smiling again. "We're lucky, aren't we?"

Erik blinked, taken aback by her quick-changing mood. "Yes, we are. _I_ certainly am. Christine…"

"I'm going to take Emilie down to the shoreline, show her the sea properly." She was up and gone before Erik even had time to process what she'd said. He quickly followed her.

"Father, come and play dodge the wave with me!"

"In a moment, Gustave," Erik said as knelt down beside Christine, who was holding Emilie close to the water's edge, just enough so they wouldn't get wet. Emile was smiling and cooing, almost giggling when the water came close and then fell away again.

"Look, she loves it," Christine said, adoringly, holding her daughter close.

Erik said nothing, he just watched, sadly, as his wife continued to entertain Emilie. He felt incredibly guilty for even thinking it, but he wasn't sure how much longer he could do this. He'd never leave her, ever, but he felt like he was beginning to crack himself – he just didn't know what to do, and he felt terrible, because he'd told himself he'd do anything to bring her back, that he'd rescue her, and he would… But could he? Apart from being there for her, apart from comforting her and doing his best to make her feel safe, could he? And where was that loathsome man's letter? He'd told Christine it was coming, and now he felt like a liar. She hadn't said anything about it, but he knew it wouldn't be helping her, knowing he'd promised something that hadn't happened, he was sure of it. He thought about paying Raoul another visit, and this time he wouldn't be as nice. But, however much he wanted to, he knew he couldn't leave his family alone at such a time.

"Erik?"

"… Yes? Sorry, sorry," he said, snapping out of it. "It's nearly lunch time – shall we make our way back?"

* * *

"Hello?"

"_Erik, it's Cissy. I'm just calling to see how you all are, and… Well, I have a bit of news."_

"Go on…"

"_It's nothing to worry about, but the papers-" _

"Oh, God…"

"_No, let me finish. This morning they were speculating about Christine's mental health. I don't know how, but they know she's been… Well, you know. But anyway, I got onto them and told them that Christine was going to be absolutely fine, that she'd just been delirious from fever caused by flu, that you'd taken her out of the city – to the country, not the sea – and that she was recovering well. It seems to have worked – tomorrow they're going to be printing their best wishes instead of gossiping. I just thought you should know."_

Erik rubbed a hand over his face and sighed in relief. "Cissy, thank you. What would we do without you?"

"_I didn't think twice about it. You're our friends, Erik. Now, tell me – how is she?"_

"She's… Oh, Cissy, I really don't know. I finally got her to tell me about her nightmares, and they're more awful than I could have ever imagined. The things she saw… The violence. No wonder she's been so afraid. She was devastated. And yet, today…"

"_Erik?"_

"She's behaving as if nothing has happened, but her face, when she thinks I'm not looking… She's so sad, Cissy. Pretending will do her no good, surely?"

"_Oh, I just don't know. But maybe it's all part of the process? Maybe, after a while, she'll find she's not pretending anymore? Concentrate on everything positive. She told you about her dreams – that's a positive. It's all happened so quickly and it's no wonder you're all over the place. But she will get better, I'm sure of it."_

"I hope so. I miss her terribly."

"_You poor dear, you sound so tired. How are the children?"_

"They're fine, I think. Well, Emilie doesn't know any different, and Gustave… Obviously he knows things aren't right, but he's been very good."

"_I'm glad. Listen, would you like me to send Francine down to you? I know you left without any staff, but-"_

"No, no, really, we're fine. It's better this way."

"_Very well. But if you need anything, Erik, anything at all, just call."_

"I will. Thank you, Cissy, and give my best to Henry."

"_I will do, and give Christine my love. Goodbye, darling."_

"Goodbye."

* * *

Erik didn't regret coming to Coney Island without any staff, but, in hindsight, he could have done with some help preparing dinner. It was because he was trying too hard, he knew; he wanted everything to be perfect. He'd thought, briefly, about calling on Miss Fleck, but the ones who stayed at Phantasma out-of-season because they had nowhere else to go didn't owe him any duty - apart from those he hired specifically to keep an eye on the park and hotel whilst they were closed - and even though she probably would have gladly helped, he would have felt bad for asking. He'd very nearly called Madame Giry instead, but he knew she would just take over and he'd end up getting annoyed with her, so that idea had been extinguished almost immediately.

When he was satisfied that he could leave the kitchen unattended, Erik took the lift back up to the suite and quickly changed for dinner before making sure Gustave had everything he needed, that he'd had enough to eat and telling him that he was to check on his sister in the nursery at regular intervals and only disturb them if it was absolutely necessary.

"Where is your mother?"

"She went to feed Emilie and then dress. What do I do if she won't stop crying?"

"She'll be fine, son. She will have been fed and changed, so just tell her a story or give her a cuddle if she's not settling. She's usually very good at getting off to sleep."

"But what if she doesn't and _does _cry and won't stop no matter what I do?"

Erik crouched in front of his son and fiddled with the buttons on his pyjama shirt, correcting the misaligned ones. "Well, then you can come and get us. Besides, you're good with her – she loves you."

"I know, I just haven't been left completely alone with her before."

"You won't be alone, Gustave, we'll be just downstairs. Now, would you run and tell your mother to meet me by the doors to the restaurant?"

"Yes, papa."

Erik ruffled his hair. "Good boy." He made his way back down to the kitchen, readied the first course, finished preparing the table, lit the candles, and then hurried into the lobby to meet Christine. He got there just as she was coming down the steps of the grand staircase. He wondered if he would ever stop being awed by her beauty and grace – he didn't want to be. He smiled as she approached him, dressed in a pale gold, embellished gown, her curls piled atop her head, diamonds hanging delicately from her ears. Erik took her hand and kissed it, bowing before her. "Madame. May I say, you look absolutely enchanting this evening."

Christine's cheeks turned a lovely hue of pink as she smiled in return. "You may." She stepped forward, a hand reaching out to touch his bow-tie. "White tie?"

"Of course, it's a very special occasion."

She smiled again and brushed her lips against his. "You look very handsome. Shall we?"

Erik opened the door for her, showing her through and then stopping behind her as she paused at seeing what was before her.

"Oh, Erik…"

The only light in the room came from the candles that had been dotted about. The electric lights had been switched off, and a beautiful, soft-focus warm glow lit the table and surrounding area. It was raining outside now, the wind picking up, and that only served to make everything just that little more cosy. A vase of roses and gleaming silver and crystal tableware completed the arrangement.

Erik moved around Christine and walked up to the table, pulling out a chair for her. "If you please…" She sat, and he poured her a glass of champagne. "I'll be back in just a moment."

Again, that false sense of security slipped in. Christine smiled. She talked and she laughed, and then Erik would watch her when she wasn't looking and the pretence would slip, only to be put back into place moments later. It was confusing. It was upsetting. But he let himself believe, every time she looked at him, so loving, so beautiful, that what he'd seen was merely a figment of his imagination. However, than, in itself, could only last so long, before the illusion was lifted completely.

"Darling, this is delicious. You should cook for me more often. That isn't to say that I don't enjoy Mary's cooking – I do – but I feel well and truly spoiled," Christine complimented, before spearing another piece of meat with her fork and placing it delicately into her mouth.

"I'm glad you like it. I almost burned down the kitchen, of course, but it was worth it."

"You didn't!"

Erik grinned at her.

After the main course had been finished, as they waited for their stomachs to settle before beginning dessert, Erik fished into his pocket and pulled out a little box, handing it to Christine, who took it delightedly and opened it excitedly.

"Happy anniversary, darling"

"Oh, Erik! It's _beautiful_."

"Look inside it," he said, smiling expectantly.

The gift, a gold, engraved oval locket studded with tiny rubies around the edge, was removed from its box, the clasp on the pendant opened. Inside were two small photographs – one of Erik and Christine on their wedding day, the other of Gustave and Emilie, which Erik had had taken in secret.

"Christine?"

Christine looked up at him a little tearfully. "Would you put it on for me?"

He nodded and moved around her, taking the necklace from her hands and securing it around her neck. "There. Stunning." He pressed a kiss to her neck and went to move away, but Christine took hold of his arm, and he knelt down beside her.

"I love it, thank you." She kissed him softly, and he melted into her for a moment before pulling away.

"I'm glad. Do you have any idea how difficult it was to get Emilie to face the camera?"

Christine laughed. "I can imagine."

After dessert they made their way slowly back upstairs. Erik hadn't wanted it to end. It was so tempting, so easy to slide into denial and let things play out Christine's way, but it was hurting his head, disorientating him and exhausting him. He was confused. Was Cissy right? Was it just part of the process? Was it just something he needed to deal with because it meant that Christine might possibly be getting better? She had been right about one thing, though – it _had _all happened very quickly. Five days felt like five months, and no wonder he felt like he'd run smack into a wall.

"I'm just going to check on the children, and then I'm all yours again," Christine smiled, turning and walking away, leaving Erik to wander into their bedroom, where he sat down heavily on the bed.

"Erik?"

Erik jumped. Hadn't she just… He must have been lost in thought.

"Are you all right? You look like you've seen a ghost. Shall we dance?"

"Dance?"

"Yes, you're familiar with the concept?" Christine said, teasingly, going over to take his hand and pull him up.

"There's no music," Erik replied, a little dumbly, still out of sorts and not sure how much longer he'd be able to last without saying something about Christine's behavior. He didn't want to ruin their day, and God knew he didn't want to upset her. But he felt odd, nervous and queasy and tired and distressed all at once, and he didn't like it.

"Not in here, no, but there's that wonderful thing called a phonograph in the living room and… Erik, really, what's the matter? Has something happened?" Christine asked, her voice becoming more gentle. She put a hand to his face, and Erik smiled at her sadly.

"I'd be asking you that question if I didn't already know."

Christine frowned. "What do you mean?"

Erik took his wife's hands and squeezed them tightly. How was he supposed to put this? "Oh, my darling girl. I've… I've noticed."

"Noticed what?"

"You've been happy all day, except… except when you think I'm not looking."

Christine let out a small, humourless laugh and walked away from him, stopping at her dresser and fiddling with the little jars and bottles, moving them about and then back again. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean. I'm perfectly fine." She turned back to him. "Now, how about that dance?"

"Christine, please…"

"Darling, I don't have any idea what you're talking about. Please don't worry about me," Christine soothed, walking back to him and wrapping her arms around his neck.

Erik took hold of his wife's arms and removed them from where she held him. "Christine, don't do this. It doesn't matter, you don't have to pretend, I don't want you to force yourself to be happy when you're not."

"What has gotten into you?"

"Just stop it, please…"

Christine put her hands on his shoulders and moved into him. "Erik, really, what are you fretting over?"

Again, Erik removed himself from her. It pained him to do so, but he had no choice. "Christine, you've not been yourself this past week, you know that, and yet today you've been all smiles, except when you think I'm not looking. I don't want you to suddenly act as if everything is ok because that's not going to solve anything."

"Darling…" Again, her arms about him. Again, Erik removed them.

"Christine, I'm trying to talk to you…"

"Will you stop pushing me away!"

"I'm just trying… Christine…"

"What is the _matter _with you?!"

"Christine, please…"

"Erik, don't…"

"Look, just…"

"Erik…"

"Christine, stop it! I don't know what to do! I can't… We're fine, everything is fine and if you don't realise that then we'll fall apart! Just STOP IT!"

For a moment, there was silence. Then Christine looked up at Erik with tears in her eyes, her lower lip trembling.

"I just didn't want to ruin our anniversary, that's all," she confessed, her voice small and wavering.

Oh, God, what had he done? His hands were on her shoulders. He must have grabbed her, although he couldn't remember doing so, but he obviously had. He felt sick. The look on Christine's face shattered his heart into a thousand pieces. He was so ashamed of himself that he did the worst thing possible in that moment - he left. He let go of his wife's shoulders, horrified, and fled.

* * *

**Cliffhanger! Please don't hate me! But do R&R :) Thank you! Will try not to be too long with the next chapter, but I'm quite busy this week and next week, and then I'll be in Paris for a week after that, so I'll try my best to get something up before I go on holiday, but apologies if I don't.**


	22. Chapter 22

**Without giving too much away, there are adult themes in this chapter, but I don't think it's anything too bad. As you all already know, I don't write explicit content, and it's nothing, in my view, that warrants a change of rating. There is a reason I've written it, which you'll very soon see.**

**This is also my longest chapter - I just couldn't stop writing it! Enjoy!**

* * *

The was one lone light on in the bar, casting long shadows across the floor. At a table in the far corner, furthest away from the lamp, sat Erik, sad and tired, an almost empty tumbler in front of him. Shaky hands lifted the glass to his lips, and he swallowed the last of his brandy, savoring its warmth as it slid comfortingly down his throat. He wasn't drunk. He'd just needed one drink to calm himself. He would never drown himself in alcohol to relieve himself of his troubles.

He wasn't Raoul.

Erik sniffed and wiped away a solitary tear with the back of his hand. He felt awful. His head was pounding, his eyes sore, and he was wracked with guilt. When he'd first entered the bar he'd just sat and sobbed. He hadn't realised until then just how much he'd needed to. Erik placed his head in his hands and closed his eyes. Had he hurt her? Had he grabbed her or had he simply just placed his hands upon her shoulders? He couldn't remember. It was killing him. His Christine. What would become of her? What if he'd stayed, after that night? What if he'd got her to run away with him, brought her here from the very beginning? He shook his head. Idiot thoughts. This would have been no place for her back then. Not that that made it right for Madame Giry and Meg, but then leaving France had been Madame's idea in the first place, and he never would have forced them to go out making money for him if they hadn't wanted to. The life they'd had, Christine never would have allowed it if she'd followed, never would have allowed him to be willingly made a mockery of in a freak show to earn a penny, never would have allowed Giry and Meg to do what they did. So what would have become of them, on the run with no money? Apart from the small amount he'd had in his coat, he'd had to leave behind every franc, every centime. That would have been worse that living in a nice house with good food on the table and the best that money could buy, surely? It had certainly been best for their son. What would have happened to Gustave if he'd been born into poverty? He might not have survived past his first birthday. He couldn't have put them through that, not even for just a few years while he put plans in place to make some money. He was certain that, wherever he'd ended up, he would have made his fortune somehow, but until then, what would they have done? Christine wouldn't have even been able to sing because then she'd have been found - even if she'd changed her name, somehow, it wouldn't have lasted. It would have ruined her career, her reputation. But even so, even though leaving her had been best for her, and in turn, Gustave, he'd still left her with a husband who had become a drunkard, who had hurt her emotionally and left her feeling trapped. Neither situation was very appealing, and perhaps it would have been better if neither of them had pursued her, if she'd just stayed in the corps de ballet with her best friend and Madame Giry looking after her.

"_I'd have followed anywhere you led…"_

Erik's stomach twisted. All this had unraveled from one blissfully perfect night. He knew, that no matter what had gone before, that that had been the tipping point…

_Erik's overcoat was getting dusty. He couldn't send his things to be cleaned anymore, couldn't slip them onto the costume rack and get Madame Giry to make sure they weren't noticed, weren't questioned. He brushed a hand down one of the sleeves and sighed. He'd been having to wash everything himself, and for all his genius, it had taken a lot of effort. He hadn't been able to escape with much, just the clothes on his back, his coat and cloak, a hat… and a yellow ribbon. _Her _yellow ribbon. The one she'd given him so long ago, now, that he wondered if she even knew he still had it._

_Erik's eyes watered and he shook his head, clearing it of thoughts of her. It did him no good to keep dwelling on her. But what could he do? He was in love, and it hurt. He'd never meant to fall in love - he never thought he'd ever get to spend enough time with anyone at all to be able to feel that. And then one night, a young girl, crying for her father and asking the empty air when her promised 'Angel of music' would arrive, had caught his attention. This girl, so innocent, so sweet, and nothing much like the rest of the girls in the corps de ballet, had unknowingly drawn him to her. He hadn't loved her back then, not like that. She'd been too young, and the joy he'd got out of having the same person to communicate with over and over, to nurture, to not have them run away, had been enough. She'd infuriated him at times, but he'd never meant to get angry with her. He was deeply regretful of the amount of times he had upset, and even frightened, the poor child - his foul temper, his hatred of the world, had never been her fault. And then, overnight, the child had become a woman, and she was beautiful beyond words. And he fell. Terrified of losing her, he'd become even stricter, but that, ultimately, had pushed her into Raoul's arms. Not that he'd have ever had a chance to be loved by her anyway, but if he'd been kinder, more gentle, maybe she would have been more reluctant to leave him… He'd found out what real love was all too late. But she'd kissed him, not once, but twice, and that would stay with him forever. That act of kindness she'd shown him, that compassion, had been overwhelming. He'd never felt it before, and at first he hadn't even been able to breathe. He knew, somehow, that she hadn't done it just to let Raoul escape with his life. She could have easily just have _said _that she was staying. She hadn't. She'd kissed him, to make him feel like someone wanted him, that someone loved him, and if he closed his eyes, he could still feel it, the warmth of her lips, how his had tingled afterwards, her hands on his face, so soft… When she'd come back, a flicker of hope had passed through him. He knew it had shown on his face, but he hadn't cared. Then she'd held out his ring. Of course. But that wasn't her fault. She'd looked at him sadly, not even the tiniest sign of a flinch at his face. He was bared to her, completely open, his heart and soul. For the first time ever, there were no barriers, nothing to hide behind. He was as he was meant to be. And then he'd told her. He'd known it wouldn't make a difference, but if he had a chance, just once chance in his whole life, to tell someone that he loved them, that was it. So he took it. She'd cried, had kissed his hand, and then she'd slowly turned away, only looking back one last time as if needing reassurance that she was really allowed to go. He'd nodded, and then turned away as she'd started to climb the stairs. He couldn't watch her leave, couldn't watch as Raoul led her away. One last whispered 'I love you' to the air, and that was it. It was over._

_He'd be a better person, now. Somehow, someway, he would._

_The was a noise outside the window. Erik jumped, spinning round and accidentally knocking over the one lamp he had lit, sending it crashing to the ground. He cringed at the noise, the flame extinguishing and throwing him into darkness. He cursed under his breath. Only Madame Giry knew he was there, in this old, abandoned house with peeling walls and moth-eaten curtains and furniture which had been covered with sheets to protect it from dust, and then subsequently abandoned for good. It was south-west of the Opera House, along the river in a quieter part of the city, and Giry had only known of its existence because a friend had once lived nearby and had told her the tragedy of the family who had once lived there. It had just been left to rot. It had been perfect, for a short-term hideaway, anyway. However, Madame Giry would not be visiting at this late hour. Erik could no longer make out the time on his pocket watch, but the last time he'd checked it had gone ten-thirty. He held his breath. What if someone had seen the light? What if it was someone from the streets looking for shelter, deciding to try their luck and break in? He tensed, waiting to pounce on whoever might break the window and slip in, but no one did. He frowned and quickly headed to the back door of the house. No one would dare use the front one for fear of being seen, even in the dead of night, but the back door was more-or-less secluded and pretty much hidden by overgrowth. Erik tried to calm himself. It could have been anything - the wind, a cat… Anything. Except something was telling that it wasn't. Sure enough, moments later, there was a gentle knocking at the door. Now he was even more confused. Who would knock if they thought the house empty? Quietly, he crept towards it, arms up and ready to fight. Another knock, slightly louder than the last. Maybe it _was_ Giry? Maybe something was wrong… _

"_Hello?"_

_Erik froze. Even as a whisper, he was sure he recognised that voice…_

"_Please, are you there? Angel?"_

_Oh, no. No, no, no…_

"_Please, _please, _be there. It's so terribly dark out here I fear I may die of fright at any moment. Oh, please be there, please…" _

_There was a small sob, and Erik was at the door in an instant, unbolting it and opening it just enough so that he could grab Christine's arm and pull her through. She gasped as he did so, and he let go of her momentarily to quickly lock the door back up, before taking her by both arms. He was mortified._

"_What on_ Earth_ are you doing here? Don't you know how dangerous is it?!" he whispered harshly, frightened more for her than himself._

_Christine burst into tears. "I'm sorry…"_

_Before he knew it, Erik had taken her in his arms, speechless as she clung to him tightly. He thought he'd never seen her again, and now here she was, squeezing the life out of him, trembling as she did so. He took a steadying breath, found his voice. "Christine…"_

_She pulled away slightly, and he felt her look up at him, although the night was so black, the moon swallowed up by threatening clouds, that he could barely see her._

"_I know I shouldn't be here, I know it, but I had to see you, I had to!"_

_He held her close again. "All right, shhh, it's all right. What's happened? What's wrong?" Why had she come to him? Was it Raoul? His blood boiled. If he'd-_

"_Nothing, I'm… I'm…"_

"_What?"_

"_I just had to see you again."_

_His heart swelled. Then he realised he was still holding her and let her go, stepping back. The feel of her was scalding. He'd never held her like that before, but she'd been upset and he hadn't even thought about it. He'd hugged her, and she'd hugged him back, willingly. He shook his head. What was going on?_

"_It's cold in here," Christine breathed, her voice shaking, "almost as cold as outside."_

"_I can't light the fires," Erik replied, feeling stupid. "If anyone saw the smoke…"_

"_Have you not even a light?"_

"_I accidentally knocked it over, and now I can't find my matches…" He shook his head. "Why are you here? I… I'm sorry, that was rude. Forgive me."_

"_No, it's all right. Perhaps I shouldn't have come. I was just confused…"_

_Erik could hear her shivering. He removed his coat, and he felt her jump a little as he reached out into the darkness and placed it around her shoulders._

"_Thank you. What about you?"_

"_I'll be fine. But please, Christine, tell me why you're here. I can't bear it. I wasn't supposed to ever see you again – you were supposed to believe me dead."_

"_I never believed it. I didn't want to. How… How could I believe that your life was no more? It was just too horrible. I hadn't a clue how to find out, but then I heard Madame Giry and Meg talking to each other when they thought I'd gone. I'd forgotten my scarf after having dinner with them at their apartment, and I heard them talking about you! I knew it! I knew you weren't dead! I followed Madame Giry here afterwards, but I was too frightened to wait outside alone until she'd left, so I went back home and waited until tonight. Please don't be angry, I had to see you – I'm supposed to be getting married tomorrow, but I had to…"_

_Erik closed his eyes as she trailed off. Of, course, it was her wedding day tomorrow. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "Then you shouldn't have come at all," he said, bitterly, turning away from her. _

"_Angel, please…" _

_A hand sought out his and grabbed it. He inhaled sharply, the feel of her skin against his too much. But he didn't let go. "Follow me," was all he said, as he led her carefully out of the kitchen, blindly walking towards the direction of the small front room. Once safely inside, he felt for the settee and sat her down on it._

"_There's not even any moonlight."_

"_Even if there was, the curtains would still be closed."_

"_Yes, I suppose they would be. Anyone could look in."_

_Erik sat down beside her, feeling awkward and unsure of himself. There was tension, now, in the air - he could feel it. It confused him, made him feel like he couldn't breathe. There was silence. Erik's hands gripped the edge of the settee. He could hear his heart thumping in his ears. Was this all in his head? She'd left him, and even though she'd said his face held no horror for her anymore, he was sure he still repulsed her – why wouldn't he? He'd behaved unforgivably towards her, and even though, at that last moment, she'd seemed to have had an understanding, and had been genuinely sad for him, had cried and kissed his hand and even looked back as she'd left… He squeezed his eyes shut. She was just being kind. The tension he was feeling was all in his head. She'd simply needed to make sure he was all right. But he didn't want pity, didn't deserve it, and he was about to tell her as much when her hand brushed his. Again, a sharp inhalation, and the tension was now so palpable that it had to be real, after all. But how? Why would she… Their fingers entwined, and Erik's heart pounded wildly. He was sure Christine could hear it. Neither of them said anything, and Erik bit his lip as he brushed his thumb gently across the underside of her wrist. He could almost feel the blood rushing through her veins, imagined he could hear it, her life, singing to him. Christine still trembled, but he wondered if perhaps it now had less to do with being cold._

"_Christine…" he whispered, before he could stop himself._

"_Angel…"_

_Erik shook his head, even though she couldn't see it. "It's… It's Erik. My name. I'm not an angel," he said, softly, regretfully. It felt like a lifetime before Christine said anything, but when she did, he smiled in relief._

"_Hello, Erik."_

"_Hello, Christine."_

_There was a small, breathy laugh, and without thinking he pulled her closer, his hands gently gripping her arms. He could feel her warm breath on him, knew her face was only inches from his._

"_Erik. It suits you. Erik?"_

"_Yes, Christine?"_

"_I don't think I can… I mean, tomorrow, I'm not sure if I… If I…" She sounded breathless. She sounded like he felt. He felt her come closer, her lips barely a centimetre from his. "If I…"_

_She kissed him. Or he kissed her. Either way, it didn't matter. Their lips crashed together, their arms went about each other. They gasped. They sighed. Then Christine's hands found his face, and he pulled away quickly. However, she pulled him back, her fingers brushing over his skin, and he could have cried with joy. It took all he had not to. He hadn't been worried about not having his mask on as neither could really see, but when she'd touched his face… But it was fine. She hadn't even hesitated. Then her lips were on his again, and he was drowning, trying desperately to claw his way back to the surface so he could make some sense of the situation, but unable to. The feel of her mouth, the taste of her, was too much. So he gave in. He wanted her, so much that he burned, he ached. If, for some unfathomable reason, she wanted to kiss him, wanted to hold him, then he wasn't going to stop her. If it was just out of pity, he still wouldn't stop her. He couldn't now, even if he wanted to. A light had been switched on. He'd never felt so alive, so _human.

"_Erik… Oh…" Christine breathed between kisses. He responded by kissing her deeper, his tongue touching hers, her hands pulling at his collar, cupping his face, caressing his back. He thought he would pass out. He had no idea what he was doing, but Christine was far from complaining, so he didn't stop._

"_I've not stopped thinking about you, not even for a moment," Christine confessed, murmuring against him._

"_Nor I you. My Christine…"_

"_Take me upstairs."_

_Erik paused. "Upstairs?"_

"_Yes," Christine replied, suddenly shy. "Do you want me?"_

"_God, Christine, how can you even ask me that?" he said, and kissed her again._

"_Then please, take me to bed," she said, bolder this time, and Erik wondered where that boldness had come from. Maybe it was the dark. It seemed easier to say and do things when you couldn't see the other person. Not that he minded, not when she was making him feel like this. Still, he wouldn't take advantage of her._

"_Are you sure?"_

"_Yes. I want you…" She pressed a kiss to his cheek, his neck._

_Erik felt nervous again – was this really going to happen? Was the woman he adored, this heaven-sent angel, really asking him_, him_, to bed her, to make her his? He couldn't believe it, except here she was. He__ pulled away from her reluctantly and stood and took her hand, helping her to stand. Slowly, he guided her out into the hall and towards the staircase. _

"_Be careful, some of the boards are loose," he said, as they climbed the stairs one at a time. He counted the steps in his head, knowing exactly how many there were. Then they were at the top, and he felt along the wall with his free hand until they came to a door. A quick twist of the knob and it opened, swinging away slowly from the frame. Erik pushed through it, then closed it again behind them. He let go of Christine's hand. "There's a lamp on the bedside cabinet. There might be some matches next to it. I could put it on low, unless you'd prefer…"_

_Christine gave his hand a quick squeeze and Erik relaxed a little. "It's fine, go ahead."_

_Unsurprisingly, he could feel no match box, not even when he pulled open one of the draws and rummaged around. He sighed and pulled opened the curtains. It wouldn't matter so much if they were opened a little upstairs, but it didn't make a difference anyway – the moon still eluded them. "Sorry." He heard a creak behind him and turned round._

"_Don't b-"_

_Erik didn't give Christine a chance to finish as he took her face in his hands and pulled her mouth to his, and she grabbed at him desperately. He slipped his coat from her shoulders; she in return pulled his jacket from him. Christine's cloak came off, followed by her dress, and then Erik stopped, feeling her tremble violently against him. "Get under the blankets, my dear, before you catch your death."_

"_I'm not… I'm not that cold. I'm just…"_

_Oh. He understood. "Christine, we don't have to do this."_

"_No! No, I want to. I'm not scared, I'm just a little nervous."_

"_Me, too," Erik admitted, before kissing her gently. Shaky but nimble fingers made quick work of his shirt buttons, and when the garment fell away and small hands lay flat against his bare chest, Erik thought he would come undone. He turned Christine round, his lips at her neck as he pulled apart the lacing on her corset. She sighed, and Erik felt goose bumps rise on his skin. The corset came away and he tossed it to one side, along with the rest of Christine's undergarments and boots, but before he could do anything else, she'd grabbed his hand and placed it to her breast. He felt dizzy, excitement coursing through him, and he caressed her, making her arch back into him, her head against his shoulder. How she felt was indescribable, and he never wanted to stop. _

"_Erik, please…" Christine begged, turning in his arms and pulling him into her. His breath caught in his throat. "Make love to me."_

_He picked her up and placed her on the bed, making quick work of the rest of his clothes before climbing in next to her, pulling the covers over them and claiming her lips again. It didn't feel real, and yet it was. Their hands were everywhere, caressing, stroking, the air punctuated with breathy moans and sighs, lips traveling to places other than mouths, their limbs tangled together. But very soon, Erik couldn't bear it anymore. He ached for her, needed to be joined with her. They both trembled. Christine gasped at the sudden pain, and he froze, terrified he had really hurt her, until she stroked his cheek, whispered that she was all right, and he relaxed as he felt her do the same. His fingers linked with hers. She was warm and inviting, like the sea on a summer's day. It was overwhelming. Passion that he'd never known, pleasure that he hadn't thought possible._

"_My Christine…"_

"_Yes..."_

_She clung to him, no longer in pain, her fingers digging into his back. He wondered, briefly, if she could feel the scars there. They'd faded with time, but they were still a different texture to the rest of his skin, and while he wasn't covered in them, they still made him feel uneasy. However, he didn't have the concentration to dwell on that for long. Christine's breath quickened, and she suddenly tensed beneath him, crying out as she did, and he couldn't hold on any longer. He let go, lost himself in a feeling so exquisite that it would have temporarily blinded him had it not already been so dark._

_For a minute or so, the only sound was breathlessness. Then the panting slowed, and Erik turned onto his side and reached a hand out to Christine, brushing her damp hair away from her face. She grabbed his hand and pressed a kiss to it. At first, he didn't know what to say to her. Then: "Are you all right?" Even as he said it, he felt ridiculous. Somehow, though, he knew she was smiling, and this was confirmed upon hearing it in her voice as she spoke._

"_I feel…" She giggled a little and pulled him down to kiss her. He knew exactly what she meant. _

_For a while they simply held each other. Erik pulled the blankets tighter around them as the cold seeped back in. _

"_Erik?"_

"_Hmmm?"_

"_Why do you love me?"_

_Erik blinked. He hadn't been expecting that. The answer was easy, though. He turned to her, ran a hand idly over her stomach. She shivered a little, and he smiled. "You know very well you're the first person who's ever shown me any kindness, any compassion. How could I not love you?"_

_Christine moved, sitting up. "But that's not quite true, is it? Madame Giry stole you away from the sideshow, brought you to the Opera House."_

"_How did you…?"_

"_She told me. Is what she did not a kindness?"_

"_Yes, yes of course."_

"_But she's not the one in your bed."_

_Erik shuddered. "No, thank goodness."_

_Christine laughed a little and then composed herself. "Well?"_

"_I… Your beauty, your grace. Your angelic voice. Your perfect pitch and your crystal clear tone. Your smile. The way your nose wrinkles when you laugh. The way you still hold a childlike curiosity even though you're now a grown woman. How annoying that is. How endearing that is. The way you dance when you think no one is watching and the fond amusement it gives me. How kind you are to everyone. Your capacity for forgiveness. How much you miss your father and worry you haven't made him proud, when I don't see how he couldn't be, so he definitely is. The way you make my stomach knot whenever I see you. The yellow ribbon you took from your hair and gave to me becau-" He was silenced by a kiss._

"_Does my nose really wrinkle when I laugh?" Christine asked, sniffing._

"_Christine – are you crying?"_

"_No."_

"_Because your nose wrinkling when you laugh is nothing to get upset about. It's not ugly, it's very sweet."_

"_That's not why… That's not it."_

"_Then why?"_

_She sniffed again. "No one's ever said such lovely things to me before. Well, that's not strictly true, but all those little things that mean the most… Sorry, I'm being silly."_

"_Never. Come here," he said, pressing his mouth to her cheek. She turned her head and he pressed his lips to hers for what felt like the hundredth time. Erik ran his hands over her impossibly soft skin. Christine sighed. And then they fell again._

_This time the nerves were gone. They were bolder, less clumsy. Christine scraped her teeth down his neck, nibbled the patch of skin where it met his shoulder, just enough for him to hiss with pleasure and not pain, and he worshipped her, left no part of her untouched. _

"_I'm a little thirsty," Christine panted afterwards, her head resting on Erik's chest. Erik untangled himself from her and sat up. "I can get you some water? I'm afraid tea is also out of the question."_

"_Yes, thank you."_

_Erik kissed her on the forehead. "Wait here." He slipped out of bed, shivering as he was separated from the warm body next to him, grabbing blindly for his coat as he went. When he returned, they spent a little while talking. He told Christine things about his life that he'd never ever dared to tell anyone, but somehow, under the cloak of night, the impossible had been made possible, and he bared his soul to her, feeling stronger and braver than ever before. She'd listened intently, had comforted him. He'd asked about her father, if she remembered her mother, and then had felt guilty when she'd started to cry, even though she assured him he had nothing to feel guilty about, that she was glad she could share things with him._

"_I can hardly believe tonight. I don't want it to end. Let's just stay right here, forever."_

"_Oh, my love," Erik whispered against her ear, his fingers dancing across her thigh._

"_I never thought anything could feel so…" Christine sighed, her head dropping against Erik's shoulder, her lips pressed to his cool skin._

"_Exquisitely decadent?"_

_She laughed slightly. "Yes, that will do. But it's more than that, isn't it?"_

"_Very much. You're a gift, Christine. You were made to be cherished."_

"_You say such beautiful things. I knew there was more to you – I saw it that night, when you let us go. I saw it in your eyes, and it broke my heart. I wanted more of it, I wanted to know the real you, and now I do and it's the best thing anyone has ever given me." Christine placed a hand against his heart as she kneeled in front of him, pulling him up with her. "You're capable of so much love – I can feel it. I _have _felt it."_

_Erik pressed his face into Christine's neck, breathing in the scent of her, a hand moving through her hair. "I don't deserve you," he breathed._

"_You do. I'll show you how much..." She moved closer until she was straddling him, her arms around his neck._

"_Christine…" He never wanted her to stop. He knew he couldn't stop himself. He wanted her like this forever, wanting to feel as he did now every single day for the rest of his life. She rocked against him, and he relished in hearing her gasp as she moved. He ran a hand up her chest and towards her shoulder, could feel that her head was tipped back in abandonment, and when she brought it forward again, her lips instantly found his. Everything seemed more urgent this time. Senses had never been so heightened. Desire burned. Everything ached in the most delicious way. Erik knew what he was about to do next was a little selfish, but he couldn't help himself, and he was sure she wouldn't protest. He had this overwhelming need to consume her. On top of him, she was in control, and God forgive him, but he needed that back. Quick as a flash he lay down on his back, bringing Christine toppling forward, and then he flipped them over so she was underneath him. She cried out a little as he did, then grabbed his face and pulled it back down to hers. She tasted like honey, and it was addictive. She wrapped her legs around him, begged him, and he lost himself in her..._

_They were too exhausted to speak this time. Erik smiled as he caught his breath, and trailed his fingers across Christine's face to find her smiling, too. She kissed them and then held them there. Erik could feel himself drifting, but he needed to feel her lips one last time before he gave in to the pull of sleep. She reciprocated willingly but sleepily, sighing happily as she went under. Erik, wrapped an arm about her, pulling her close, his fingers entwining with hers, and then he, too, slipped into dreams._

_xxxx_

_When Erik awoke, it was still dark. The most awful nightmare had roused him, and he sat now on the edge on the bed, gripping the side of the mattress, his body shaking from a mixture of cold and grief. He couldn't stay – oh, God, he couldn't stay! His Christine, his beautiful angel, couldn't be his at all. He was so ashamed of himself. He was no good for her! His face, what he'd done… Despite what she'd said, he just couldn't do that to her. He was a coward, and he knew it, but he was scared of what the daylight would bring, afraid of seeing her eyes. He didn't regret what they'd done, not for a second. She'd breathed life into him, made him feel, and he'd never be able to do enough for her. What kind of life would she have with him? He just couldn't. Her life would be better here, up where the sun shone, where she could continue to grow. He'd made up his mind. Christine would marry Raoul. She would continue with her career and live a life of luxury, a life she'd always be safe with. It made him feel sick, to think of her with him, but he would not put her at risk._

_Tears poured down his face. He sobbed wretchedly, burying his face in the corner of a blanket to muffle the sound. He'd wanted her for so long, and now he couldn't stay. He loved her completely. He loved her so much that he couldn't breathe. The pain was unbearable. He adored her, and she meant _everything _to him. Slowly, Erik rose from the bed, only just keeping himself in control. He searched blindly for his clothes, lay what he could find of Christine's on the bed, and dressed quickly. He peeked through the curtains and he could tell by the slight change in the sky that the sun would soon rise. The moon was still hidden by a relentless blanket of cloud, and he knew the day would be grey and depressing, just like his mood. Quietly, he walked around to the opposite side of the bed. He could tell from Christine's breathing which way she was facing, and he crouched down by her head, reaching a hand out to brush her cheek and then snatching it away again before he could touch her. He couldn't risk waking her, and the tears welled in his eyes again as he was denied that last chance for contact._

"_I love you," he whispered, overcome with grief. "I'll love you forever. Whatever you might think when you wake up, whatever you might feel, please know that I loved you, that I did this all for you. I don't know if you'll ever know just what you've given me, but I'll never forget this night. I'm so sorry, my darling. Forgive me." He stood, pulling his overcoat tightly around him, although it offered little comfort. This was it. He'd never see her again. He bit down on his wobbling lower lip and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Then he took a deep breath. "Goodbye, my love." He turned and left quickly, before he could change his mind, grabbing his mask, wig and cloak from where he'd left them on the back of an armchair in the front room and slipping out of the back door. He kept to the shadows until he got to the end of the street where a small park was, and fell to his knees behind a large tree, weeping into his hands. He had to calm down. He had to get away from here as quickly as possible, before it got light. Erik reached into his pocket and pulled out something cool and silky. It was Christine's ribbon. He choked back a sob, pressed a kiss to the ribbon and placed it safely back inside his coat before removing his wig and mask from the other pocket and securing them in place. The hood of the cloak went over his head. _

_Then he was gone._

* * *

When Erik woke up, the side of his head pressed against a smooth, hard surface, the sun streaming in through the shutters on the windows, it took him a moment to realise where he was. When it hit him, he sat up so fast that he nearly fell out of his chair. Christine! He ran, almost tripping in his haste to leave the bar. His poor wife. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, hadn't meant to leave her alone all night after what had happened. Oh, what a stupid, stupid fool he was. He raced across the park, not slowing until he was inside the lift back at the hotel. He braced his hands on his thighs, catching his breath, and when the doors opened, and he was standing outside their suite, he found that he couldn't move. What was he going to say to her? How could he possibly explain himself after he'd behaved so awfully? He mentally slapped himself and took out his door key, placing it in the lock and turning it slowly. As he pushed the door open, the sound of laughter reached his ears. He frowned and moved towards the sound. That wasn't Christine…

"Meg!"

Meg Giry, who was in the middle of chasing Gustave around the living room, jumped and spun round, her hand going to her chest. "Erik!"

"Morning, papa!"

"What's going on, where's Christine?"

"She's gone for some air," another voice announced from behind him, and he turned to see Madame Giry staring at him sternly, Emilie in her arms, the little girl smiling when she saw her father. Erik couldn't help but smile back at her, tickling her under her chin.

"Papa, have you finished working now?"

Erik turned back to his son, confused. "I…"

"Christine told him about how something important had come up and you'd had to leave early this morning to see to it," Madame Giry said, although Erik could tell that she didn't believe that for a moment.

"Yes, that's right," Erik nodded, reaching out to ruffle Gustave's hair.

"Mama didn't look well. She said she needed to go for a walk. I wanted to go with her but she thought it best that she went alone. She called Meg and Madame Giry to come and look after us. Well, Emilie. I am eleven, after all."

Erik laughed, despite himself. "Yet not too old to be chased around?"

Gustave grinned at him.

Erik knelt down in front of him, turning serious, his voice low. "You're ok, though, are you?"

"Yes, I don't mind now, honestly," Gustave said quietly back, knowing exactly what his father was talking about. "She was going to call Francine, but I knew that would take longer because she's further away, and I didn't want mama to have to wait. It was my idea."

Erik nodded. "All right. Come here." He gave his son a quick hug, then rose and turned to Madame Giry. "Can we talk in the hall?"

"Of course."

They moved out of the room. Erik looked at his daughter sadly. "Can I take her for a moment?" he asked, holding his arms out for her. Giry handed Emilie over, and Erik kissed her face and held her close, his eyes welling up. He couldn't help it.

Madame Giry shook her head. "Look at the state of you. What on Earth has happened?"

"Christine… She hasn't been well. I don't have time to explain now, but I will later, I promise. I know this looks bad, but it's not what you're thinking. Now, where did she go?"

"Honestly, I don't know. She said she wouldn't go far, but in this place, she could be anywhere. It's a maze."

"When did she leave?"

"About an hour ago."

An hour?! "What time is it?"

"Almost midday."

"What?!"

Madame Giry gave him that look again. "Go and find her." She took Emilie from him and practically pushed him back out the door, although he didn't need any persuading.

* * *

He'd searched for the best part of an hour, but Christine was nowhere to be found. Erik was frantic. He'd even started to imagine the worst. What if she was so overcome that she'd done something stupid? He looked towards the sea and started to panic even more. He had to calm down. _Think! _Maybe… Maybe she wasn't outside at all – maybe she was inside! But where? He heard a noise from behind, and turned round hopefully, Christine's name on his lips. His face fell with disappointment when he saw it was just Squelch doing his rounds.

"Squelch!"

"Sir?"

Erik moved towards him, urgently. "Have you seen Christine?"

The large man nodded, and Erik could have cried with relief. "Yes, sir. She's in the theatre. She said she'd misplaced a necklace, hadn't seen it for months, and wondered if she'd left it in her dressing room."

Thank goodness. "May I have your keys? I've left mine in the suite. I'll lock up and return them to you later."

Squelch handed them over, and Erik thanked him and walked off towards the theatre, fighting the urge to run until he was out of Squelch's sight.

The theatre was dark and cold. Erik prayed Christine was still there as he moved through the backstage area, going straight towards where he instinctively knew she would be. He stopped in the wings and looked out across the stage. The she was, sitting on the edge of it, dimly lit by the lights coming from off-stage and staring out into the darkened auditorium. He stood and watched her for a moment, fidgeting nervously, his hands going in and out of his pockets. Then he took a deep breath and walked towards her.

At the sound of his echoing footsteps, Christine jumped in fright and stumbled to her feet. Erik winced. He hadn't meant to scare her. Then she caught herself and her eyes locked with his. He saw her mouth tremble, and he was running before he knew it, taking her in his arms and burying his face in her hair.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry…" His face was damp again, and he wondered vaguely how he even had any tears left to fall. He was sure he should have dried up by now.

"I… I thought you'd left me again!"

Again.

Erik felt sick again. This was all a complete mess. It wasn't meant to have been like this. When she'd come back to him, with their son, he could see their entire future. He'd been naïve to think it could be anything but perfect, that that would be the end to all they had suffered. He should have been more on guard, for his family's sake, he should have been prepared for every eventuality. Maybe then he could have stopped this, or at least halted it before things had become too bad. But maybe that was naïve, too. Maybe, in the end, things happened and you just had to do your best. But look what he'd done to her. Again.

"Never, Christine, never. I promise you."

She wept against him and pulled him closer. "I'm sorry…"

"Shhhshhhshhh, it's all right, I'm here, and you have absolutely _nothing _to be sorry for." Carefully, Erik sat them both on the floor of the stage, and neither one of them said anything else for a good while. "I know it doesn't make it better," Erik began, once they were both a lot calmer, "but I swear I never meant to leave you alone all night. I should never have left in the first place, I know that, but I only meant to calm down and then return to you. I just fell asleep. I didn't even realise I was dropping off, I just… Oh, God - I grabbed you!"

Christine touched his cheek softly, her sore, red eyes glistening in the half-light. "You didn't hurt me."

"Do you swear? Because if I did-"

"-You didn't, I swear it."

Erik was shaking. He thought he might throw up. If he'd hurt her he would never have been able to forgive himself.

"Where did you go?"

He couldn't lie to her. "The bar. But I wasn't drunk," he added quickly, at the look on her face. "I'm not… I wouldn't do that to you. I had one drink, just one. Then I just sat, thinking. I thought about that night. I dreamed about it. If I hadn't left you-"

"- Don't! Don't. This wasn't your fault."

"I very much think it might be." He took one of her small hands in both of his and kissed it softly. "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did last night. You just wanted us to have a nice day, and then I ruined it. I can't apologise enough. But do you know why I think it's still my fault?"

Christine shook her head, sniffing as she did. He smiled at her sadly.

"I don't just think you're scared because people will find out about us. Of course, I know, on its own, that that would be enough to frighten anyone to death if it meant their family could be in danger. Those dreams you've been having are horrific, but I don't just think they're tied to what's happened this past week."

"What do you mean?"

"It's me, isn't it? Dreams aren't always literal. You're scared of the children being taken away, of me dying, but I _left _you, Christine. I left you, and it's not just me dying; it's me leaving you."

Christine stared at him, confused. She rubbed her eyes. "But you dying _is _you leaving me."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, I'm not explaining myself very well. What happened last night, after I left?"

"I…" Christine hung her head and breathed deeply. "It was as if I wasn't really there. I felt… numb. I just stood there for a while, and then when I moved, everything was so routine. I saw to the children, made sure they were all right, tucked Gustave into bed, fed Emilie, and then I changed into my nightgown, washed, combed out my hair… And then I…"

"What?" Erik asked gently, squeezing her hand.

"I screamed. I couldn't breathe." Christine's hand went to her chest. "I cried and I cried. I balled my fists into the sheets and buried my face in them. I kicked at them. I wasn't angry, I was scared. You'd gone. Hours later, I still couldn't find you anywhere. You'd vanished. I… Oh. No, wait…

"That wasn't last night. You see?"

Christine's breath hitched in her throat. Her hand went to her mouth, her tearful eyes wide with realisation.

"Hush, now," Erik soothed, taking her into his arms. "Everything is going to be all right."

"I thought…"

"I know, and I'm so sorry, my darling. I won't ever, ever leave you again. I couldn't. When I did, I was wretched – even now I can still feel that all-consuming grief. God knows I wouldn't let you go through what you did again."

Christine was silent for a long while. Erik could feel her breath against his neck, and he closed his eyes, just relishing in holding her.

"Erik?"

"Yes, my love?"

"Can we stay here a bit longer? On Coney, I mean."

"Of course, whatever you want."

"I also think we should send for some of the staff. I'm grateful that you brought us here alone, but I think I need some help for a bit, and I also think that we need some time alone together – I don't want to keep leaving the children on their own. I know we're never far away, but I worry too much."

Erik could have cried with relief. This was a turning point, surely.

"Consider it done."

"I'll try, I promise," Christine said, looking up at him earnestly. "I don't ever want to feel like this again. I don't want to be scared anymore. I want to get better for you and for Gustave and for Emilie. I've been awful."

"It wasn't your fault, Christine."

She sighed. "I know." She looked out across the auditorium. "It doesn't feel right, seeing this place so empty, so cold. It needs life, not just during the summer, but all the time."

"I know, but hardly anyone would come if I opened it all year round - the weather is too disagreeable for people to travel down here, especially when there are a wealth of theatres in the city to choose from. Still, they'll soon be flocking in again, flocking in to see you."

Christine smiled softly. "I always feel so safe on the stage."

"That's because it's where you belong." Erik kissed her hair and rubbed her arm as he felt her shiver against him.

"Darling?"

"Yes?"

"It's freezing in here. Can we go home?"

"Only if you kiss me first."

Christine laughed, and it warmed his heart. She happily obliged.

"Come on, then, let's get you in the warm. Perhaps I'll even make you a cup of tea."

"You do spoil me. Oh! Meg and-"

"- Yes, I went there first. Don't worry, the children were fine. Gustave was having a whale of a time."

They left the theatre, Erik making sure he locked it securely after them.

They were nearly back at the hotel when Christine suddenly stopped in her tracks. "Raoul never wrote to me. Do you think…" She stopped herself and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I'm fine."

Erik squeezed her hand and kissed her cheek. "I'm very proud of you. But it will take time – don't worry if you slip, don't force yourself. It will come."

Finally, everything was moving forward. There was light at the end of the tunnel. But then they turned the corner, and Christine froze as she saw a lone figure sitting on a bench, staring out towards the sea.

"Raoul."

* * *

**Well, there you have it! I really hope that flashback worked. I listened to Beneath a Moonless Sky so many times, ran the lyrics through in my head over and over, and really tried to imagine how the night would have played out, what they would have said. Please R&R :)**


	23. Chapter 23

**Hello! I'm so sorry for my long absence. We lost our internet for weeks because of problems with our phone line, and we only today got it back! This chapter has been finished for ages, so it's a relief to finally get it up, especially after what I left you with XD**

**Thank you for my lovely reviews, and hope this chapter satisfies!**

**Oh, and for anyone in the UK (or indeed, anyone who wishes to fly over from abroad!) - Love Never Dies will be touring next year, hopefully in the autumn! Tres excited.**

* * *

Erik tensed, his blood boiling. How _dare _he?! How dare he come here when he'd specifically told him to send a letter - had the message to stay away not been clear enough? But before he could do anything, Christine was off, storming towards Raoul with a fierceness that he hadn't seen since she'd struck the Vicomte at the Sinclair's wedding.

"You!"

Raoul jumped up at the sound of her voice, his face a picture as Christine approached him. He looked terrified.

"You bastard!"

Erik's eyes widened as his wife once again slapped the man who had caused them so much grief, and he ran forward, grabbing her and pulling her away from the shocked Vicomte. "Christine! Christine…"

"Christine, I-"

"Don't!" Erik warned, glaring at him.

"Let me go!" Christine cried, struggling against her husband before suddenly collapsing against him. She didn't cry, she just slumped in exhaustion, breathing heavily and shaking uncontrollably with rage.

"It's all right," Erik whispered against her ear. "Don't be afraid, I'll get rid of him."

"He nearly drove me mad," she said, her devastated voice muffled by his coat.

Erik sat her down on the bench where Raoul had just been sitting, then squared up to him, furious.

Raoul shrank back. "I'm sorry, I really am…"

"How did you know we were here? _Why _are you here?"

"I…" Raoul straightened himself up and tried not to look intimidated, but it didn't work, not when his face was pale and his eyes were as wide as a deer's. "I heard that Christine was sick and then you'd left the city for a while. They said you'd gone to the country, but I didn't believe it. I tried to write, I really did, but it wasn't good enough. I had to apologise in person."

"You really _didn't_," Erik said, through clenched teeth.

"Please…" Raoul looked towards Christine. "Christine, please, just let me explain."

"You need to leave, right now."

"I'm not going anywhere, not until-"

"Leave!" Erik fumed, grabbing the Vicomte by his collar, his eyes threatening, flashing with rage.

"Unhand me!"

"Make. Me."

Raoul threw a punch, catching Erik in the stomach and momentarily winding him. He gave him an unsavoury smile. "Not so- Oof!"

Erik swung his fist into Raoul's face, sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Stop it!" Christine ran forward, stopping in front of her husband before the two men could do anymore damage to each other. "Raoul, please just go! You are not welcome here," she said tearfully, not looking at him.

Raoul got to his feet, breathing heavily and wiping blood away from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. "I never meant to upset you. Please, just let me speak, and then I shall be on my way, I promise."

Christine looked up at Erik uncertainly and he sighed, cupping her face in his hands. "This can only be your decision, my love. If you want him gone, just say the word. You _don't _have to talk to him."

She nodded, then took a deep breath and turned around. "Say what you need to and then go."

"That's all I want. I'm sorry, I really am. Christine, I never meant to scare you. I was angry and confused - I didn't expect to bump into you-"

"-No, of course you didn't, you expected us to be ashamed and in hiding."

"Christine, please - you have to know what it's been like for me. You were my wife and I loved you, and then you were gone, gone with _him._"

"Vicomte…"

"Well it's true, isn't it? But still, I was wrong to behave as I did. I feel awful that I put you through that."

"And if you knew I was here, why did it take you so long?"

"I… I'm sorry."

"Is that it?"

"No, we're… we're bound to come across each other occasionally, and I'm not expecting us to be friends, but if we could be civil, for Margaret's sake… I know it's a lot to ask."

Thunder rumbled overhead. Seagulls squawked and flew up into the darkening sky. Erik put an arm around Christine's shoulder. "I think we should get inside. Goodbye, Vicomte." They turned to leave.

"Wait! Please. Don't let us part like this, Christine."

"You are trying my patience, de Changy. Go home."

"Listen, _Mulheim_, I wasn't talking to you."

"Don't be a fool and make things worse for yourself, I'm warning you…"

"I… I knew, you know," Raoul suddenly said, his eyes filling with tears.

Erik glared at him. "You're pushing your luck - you've said what you needed to. Go home. Go back to your fiancée and your new life." He began to lead Christine away.

"I didn't _know, _know, but I knew _something _wasn't right."

Erik let go of Christine and turned back, but before he could speak, she took hold of his hand.

"Let him," she said, calmer now.

"Fine. Knew what?" he asked, voice tinged with impatience as he addressed Raoul once again, but the Vicomte's eyes were only on Christine.

"The day we got married, you weren't yourself. You were distant, and I thought it was just nerves, that you were overwhelmed. I saw you about an hour before the ceremony, walking back across the estate. Nanette was frantic because you needed to dress and she couldn't find you anywhere, and I told her you'd probably just gone for some air, and I was right, wasn't I? Except, you hadn't even left your own bed that morning, had you? You were coming back from being with him!"

Erik stepped forward and grabbed the front of Raoul's shirt with one hand, a snarl on his face. Raoul just laughed, but it was empty, hollow.

"At the reception she fooled them all. Fooled them all into thinking she was happy. But at night, when I took her to bed, when she was supposed to be mine and _only _mine, she was distant again, and again, like an idiot, I thought she was just nervous, just shy." Raoul's mouth twisted and he sniffed.

Erik let him go, stepped a little away from him but kept himself firmly between him and Christine.

"But you weren't, were you, Christine? You just didn't want me. It was _his_ arms you wanted around you, not mine. It was _him _you wanted to feel. You were thinking of him the whole time! And what about you, eh? If you loved her so much, why did you bed her and then leave her, like she was some common whore?!"

Without thinking, Erik lashed out at him again, and only stopped when Christine called his name and pulled on his arm. He blinked to clear his vision and saw Raoul once again on the floor. He didn't attempt to get up and retaliate, he just sat there. "How dare you," Erik growled. "I did it for her - I thought she would have a better life with you, that you would take care of her. How wrong I was."

"Then why let it go that far in the first place?!"

"It was _me_!" Christine cried out, tears running down her face. "It was me. _I _went to _him. _I wanted him, and he didn't deny me. He didn't take advantage of me. It was so dark, like we were on another world. Nothing else existed. I wanted to stay with him, but he didn't think he was good enough for me, so if you want to place blame then place it on me, not him!"

Raoul blinked, silenced for a moment. Then: "You still married me, though. Why?"

"Because… Because I was scared. Everyone was expecting me and I had nowhere else to go. I know that was selfish of me, and God forgive me, but I knew you loved me, and I did love you, Raoul, honestly I did, just not…"

Raoul hung his head and stood up slowly, wincing as he did. "Just not like you loved _him_."

"I'm sorry."

Raoul seemed to give up, then. The fight went out of him and he collapsed onto the bench. "I can't imagine how that must have felt, to have married someone else, to have lain with someone else, when your heart was broken, when your soul was aching for another."

"I felt like I would die, I was so numb," Christine suddenly sobbed, her breath catching in her throat. She turned to Erik. "I closed my eyes tight and tried to pretend that you were there, but you weren't – it didn't feel the same."

Erik looked at her guiltily. "Oh, Christine," he whispered, sadly.

She took his hand and squeezed it comfortingly. "Don't, it's all right." She looked back at Raoul. "I'm sorry, Raoul, I really am. I knew if I didn't marry you, then I would never marry at all, because I would never look for anyone else. I know how awful that was of me, I know I've hurt you. I really did try to be a good wife – it's why at first I wouldn't stay here. I'd married you dishonestly; I let you think that Gustave was your _son_. That was wicked of me. I felt so guilty, despite what you had become, because I knew it was partly my fault that you'd fallen so far. I owed it to you. But I never stopped loving Erik, and the pull was too strong. It burned in me and I needed to be with him, always. I'd come alive again, and to lose him again would have broken me. I had to follow my heart. When he left, he honestly had the best intentions, I know that now. He didn't do it lightly; he didn't want to leave me at all. But, he felt he had no choice, to keep me safe. He didn't want me to be a fugitive with him, hiding from the world. I would have gone, though, given the chance. But that's what love is, isn't it? It's beautiful and wonderful and the best feeling in the world, but it can also cause so much pain and despair. It can ruin people. It's Jekyll and Hyde."

Raoul rubbed his hands over his face and then placed his chin in them. His eyes were red and his skin was almost grey. He looked tired and ill, but there was something else in him now that said this was it, this was as far as they all went. It was over, now. Their story was over. "I'm sorry, Christine – I'll never understand why you love him, why you chose him over me. However, I can see that you _do _love him, that you're content. Of course, I know why he loves you – why wouldn't he? And although I'm loath to admit it, I can see that he treats you and your children well. But, I don't care how much you've changed," he said, glaring at Erik, "I still know what you were, although I won't tell anyone, not ever, because Christine will always be in here," he placed a hand over his heart, "and that will never change."

"And what about Margaret?" Christine asked.

"I will marry her. I do love her, you know – maybe not in the same way, but I do. She's kind and patient and she never gives up on me, not even when I slip. I don't know why; I certainly don't deserve her. She even knows I might not be able to give her children, and rather than get sad about it, she said we could adopt. She'll make me happy, I know she will." Raoul stood and brushed himself down. He sniffed. "Thank you, Christine, for being truthful with me. It hurts, of course, but I'd rather that than carry on believing a lie. It will be easier for me to move on, now."

"I hope so. And yes – we can be civil. Goodbye, Raoul. I wish you every happiness."

"Goodbye, Christine." Raoul nodded at Erik, and then he turned and left. He didn't look back.

It wasn't until he'd disappeared from view that Christine let out the breath she had been holding. She flung her arms around Erik's neck, and he pulled her close, rubbing a hand over her back.

"It's all right, it's all over now."

"Is he really gone?"

Erik kissed her hair. "Yes, he's really gone." He placed a finger under her chin and tipped her head up. Then he smiled. "You swore. You never swear."

Christine blushed a little. "I was angry."

"I know. Still, I should wash your mouth out with soap." She laughed, and Erik smiled wider. "That's better. Christine, I-"

She put a finger to his lips. "Don't you dare apologise again."

"I don't deserve you."

"Yes, you do." She smiled at him, a memory coming to her. "I'll show you how much…"

* * *

Madame Giry shook her head. "I'm sorry, how awful for you both. And you really think she'll get better, now?"

"Yes. Today was needed, and now we can put it all behind us and move on."

"I still can't believe Raoul would do something like that, despite everything that's happened. How cruel," Meg said, looking at Erik sympathetically.

Erik said nothing, he just stared at his hands.

"And what about you? Maybe you should have stayed in bed a bit longer – Meg and I can more than manage the children if you need more rest."

"No, no, I'm fine. What I do need, though, is a good dinner. Perhaps when Christine wakes we can all go out. I don't think either of us has eaten much today."

Giry smiled. "I have a better idea. I made lunch for us earlier so I know there is plenty of food in the kitchen – we'll eat here, with the children. You take Christine out, spend some time together, just the two of you."

Erik looked at her gratefully. He never thought he'd be so pleased to have the Girys in his home. "If you're sure?"

"Sure about what?"

"Christine…" Erik stood and took her hands. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. I could still sleep for another day at least, but I don't feel as dreadful as I did. I think hunger woke me."

"Yes, we were just discussing dinner. You and I are going out, just the two of us, somewhere quiet." He kissed her hands. "If that's agreeable, of course."

"What about the children?"

"All taken care of."

"Really?" She smiled. "All right. I'll go see to Emilie and check on Gustave, and then I'll get changed." She looked at her friends. "Thank you."

"It's our pleasure, Christine, after all you've been through…" Meg began, trailing off when she realised that maybe Erik hadn't wanted her to know.

"You told them?"

"I-"

"It's fine. Actually, you both deserve to know, especially as you've been so kind. I'm all right now, though, honestly. Erik has been marvelous."

"Well, I-"

"-Darling," Christine interrupted, placing a hand on his arm, "don't be so modest." She kissed his cheek. "I'll be back soon."

Erik watched her go, and then felt Madame Giry's eyes on him. "What?"

"I know you won't like me saying so, but I'm proud. You've become a good man, Erik. You know I've always said that I've felt like a mother to the both of you as much as Meg. I know in the past I… Well. But you're a lovely family, and you know we'll always be here to help if you need it."

Erik nodded, and then smiled at her genuinely. "Thank you."

* * *

"I can't wait until spring arrives – winter is dragging and there's not even any snow to cheer it up. It's just bitter." Christine shuddered and hugged Erik's arm tighter.

"I bet you it snows by the end of next week."

"Really? And what are we betting?"

Erik stopped and turned to face her, his arms going about her. "Well now, let's see…" He dropped a kiss to her lips, and then smiled devilishly at her.

Christine laughed. "Don't you look at me like that, dear husband."

"Is it a bet?"

"If you so wish, although isn't the point of a bet to get something you don't already have?"

"Ah, but you see," Erik took her hand and kissed it before walking with her once more, "I already _have _everything I want."

"You incorrigible romantic."

"Hmmm, that's _your_ fault."

They continued to walk along the promenade, the sea rushing back and forth from the shore, calmer now the storm had passed. The sky was clear with thousands of stars spread across the black like diamonds, and the moon shone like a bright penny.

Christine yawned and rested her head against Erik's shoulder. "Dinner was lovely, thank you."

"Darling, you don't have to keep thanking me – you've been doing it all evening."

"I know, but I can't help it. You've done so much for me this past week, put up with so much. I can only imagine how you must have felt."

"How _I _must have felt? Christine, what you went through…You don't need to worry about _me_."

"Still."

Erik stopped, a sudden realisation coming to him.

"What's wrong?"

He didn't say anything, just turned and once again took her in his arms, his eyes twinkling. "Happy New Year."

"Oh! How on Earth could we have forgotten? Happy New Year, darling." She fingered the collar of his coat, and then looked up at him coquettishly before pulling him down to her lips.

Erik, caught off guard, took a moment to respond. When he did, he kissed her deeply before literally sweeping her off her feet.

Christine giggled. "Are you going to carry me the rest of the way home?"

"Yes," Erik replied, pressing his lips against her forehead, "but only because you're tired."

"I'm fine."

He looked at her sincerely. "You will be. Don't run before you can walk."

"Yes, sir."

"Cheek."

Christine smiled. "You're right, though – I do feel a little anxious about the staff coming tomorrow. I haven't changed my mind, it's just…"

"I know, don't worry. We'll take it slow. They won't bustle around you, they'll only be there when you call for them. You don't have to see anyone you don't want to."

"That makes me sound awful, when they've all been so wonderful."

"Not at all. Everyone understands, Christine, so no fretting, all right? They won't hold it against you, not when you've been so kind to them. Now hush – the more you talk, the harder it is for me to carry you," he smirked.

Christine laughed and swiped at his arm.

* * *

"Christine, come and sit, I have something to show you."

"What are you doing?"

"Just sit," Erik smiled, waving his hand towards the bed.

Christine sat and stared at her husband's back curiously as he fished for something on top of the dresser. She just saw his hand twist, as if unlocking a box, and then there was a beat before he turned back to her, one hand behind his back. She smiled at him expectantly, and he came to sit beside her.

"Close your eyes and hold out your hands."

Christine did as asked, and after a second felt something cool and silky drop into her palms.

"You can open them, now."

Still smiling, she glanced down… and gasped. In her hands, looking almost as good as new after all these years, was her yellow hair ribbon. She held it up in front of her face, speechless for a moment, before turning to Erik with tears in her eyes. "You kept it all this time?"

Erik took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to it. "It was all I had of you. It was never away from me, until you came back, and then I put it away somewhere safe in case…" he dropped his head a little. "In case I needed it again. I didn't escape with much, back then, but there was no way I was going to leave it behind."

"Because it was to stop you being lonely when I wasn't with you, something to remember me by," Christine whispered, remembering what she'd said when she'd given it to him.

"And I never forgot; how could I?"

"Oh…" Christine flung her arms around his neck. This wonderful man. How she loved him. She kissed him, then pressed the ribbon back into his hand. "I know I'm here now, but keep it still, won't you?"

"Of course I will. After you and the children, it's the most precious thing I have."

He kissed her again, and then stood and put the ribbon back in its box.

Christine smiled at his back, and then shivered. "Could you put some more wood on the fire? It's getting a little chilly."

"Get under the covers," Erik replied, doing as asked. The fire crackled comfortingly.

Christine was tired, exhausted, but she wanted to make up for the night before. She smiled alluringly at him, and then frowned when he climbed in next to her and shook his head in amusement, kissing her cheek.

"Sleep, my love, you need to rest."

"But- " A finger was pressed to her lips and she pouted against it. Slowly, it was removed.

"Don't. You know I can't say no to that face."

"Then don't. Kiss me."

Erik laughed. "I'll kiss you goodnight."

"Spoil-sport. I want to make it up to you, how last night _should _have ended…" She moved over him, kissed his chin, his lips…

"Christine Mulheim, do as you're told for once and go to sleep," Erik murmured against her.

"You're not putting up much of a fight." The words were barely out of her mouth before Erik put his hands on her waist and rolled her back onto her side of the bed. Christine squealed and laughed, and then pouted at him again when he turned his lamp off and settled back down, his eyes closing.

"Erik…"

"Sleep."

Christine smiled. "Darling?"

"Hmmm…?"

She laughed. She knew full well he was doing what was best for her, and it just made her love him all the more. "I suppose you're right – with everyone turning up tomorrow it will be a busy day."

"Exactly."

Christine studied his face. His eyes were still closed and he was trying not to smile - she could tell, because his lips were twitching. "You said you would kiss me goodnight."

"Indeed I did."

"I'm not tired, though."

Erik cracked an eye open. "You are."

"I'm not," she said, a yawn creeping up on her.

He pushed himself up, then reached out and drew her to him. Christine smiled again, and sighed happily as his lips met hers…

* * *

Erik kissed his wife soundly, and it was mere seconds before she went limp against him, her mouth slipping from his and her head falling against his shoulder. He laughed softly as he took hold of her and gently laid her down – he'd known that would happen. Whether she'd realised it or not, she'd been slurring her words, hardly able to keep her eyes open, for a while. It had been amusing to watch her try and fight it, adorably so, and he'd nearly almost given in. He pressed a loving kiss to her forehead.

"Goodnight, my darling girl. Sweet dreams."

* * *

**So, now that's over, it's time to skip ahead several months. I do realise that this story just seems to go on and on in a way that most stories don't, but I enjoy writing glimpses (well, sometimes extended glimpses :p) into their lives, and I didn't really want to write loads of one-shots, I wanted them to be contained in one story. However, there will be two or three lighter chapters, a bit of happiness for a while, and then I have something else planned, which will hopefully make sense and not just seem like a random idea to throw them into despair again. Once that's over, I'll write an epilogue, and then I won't torture you all with it anymore XD**


	24. Note from the author

Hello!

First things first - I'm so sorry I've put this here. I know you're not really supposed to, and I'm sorry that I will have disappointed by making you all think there is a new chapter here when there isn't, but I just wanted to let you know that I haven't given up on this story. I've had so much going on - my illness is still up and down, and also just before Christmas I became an auntie, so things have been a mix of busy and just needing to rest.

I can't say how long it will be before I post the next chapter. I do have it outlined, so it's not that I've run out of ideas - I'm just glad I didn't leave it on a cliffhanger and managed to set Christine on the road to recovery and leave them a little happier. However, I will try my best to get something up within the next month, although if it doesn't happen, don't worry, it will eventually.

Thank you so much to everyone who still has the story on alert and who haven't given up waiting. It means a lot. Thank you, also, to my new reviewers, my old ones, and to those who have sent me PMs. I haven't been online much so I've only just read them! I will get around to replying, I promise!

I'll be back soon :) xx


	25. Chapter 24

**Yay, a new chapter! And quicker than I anticipated. Mind you, I've had a horrible cold this week, which is actually where the idea for this chapter came from. This is me when I'm ill. I have man-flu, which I never actually thought was very fair on men. My other half just carries on when he has a cold, whereas I become certain that I'm dying and flop about in bed with the back of my hand pressed against my forehead like a damsel in distress. Although, this chapter goes with the stereotype rather than against it. **

**Thank you to everyone who messaged me regarding the note I left, wishing me better and congratulating me on becoming an auntie (I'm in love - she's the most gorgeous thing in the world, and so good as well!) - it left me with warm fuzzies :)**

**Well, here you go. It's essentially just fluff, because my poorly head isn't in the right place to write anything better than that at the moment, but who doesn't love a bit of fluff, right?**

**Oh, and before I forget - those asking about the Girys: They will make more of an appearance , I promise! (Next chapter, actually) :)**

* * *

"So, Mr Muhlheim, if you'd just sign here and here, and date here... Mr Muhlheim? Mr Muhlheim, are you all right?"

"... Yes! Sorry, I was just... What were you saying?"

"You need to sign the contract."

Erik blinked. He felt rather peculiar. "Well, of course," he replied, with a small laugh. "We can't just buy land without the formalities now, can we Mr Burrows?" he said, looking from his lawyer to the short, mustachioed land-owner next to him, who was standing a little too close for comfort, as if he were worried Erik would somehow magically change the terms of the contract while he wasn't looking.

"Indeed we can't, Mr Muhlheim," Burrows agreed, staring at him through beady eyes.

With a flourish, Erik signed the document and then straightened up, his head pounding a little as he did so.

"Are you sure you're all right? You look awfully pale," Erik's lawyer said, again, directing a worried stare at him.

"Yes, yes, Mr Harper, I'm fine. Just a little tired - no doubt my wife will tell me off for working too hard," he said, through a forced smile - he could tell it was more than just being 'tired', and it troubled him.

Burrows chuckled. "If I had a wife as stunning as yours, I'd be tired, too, and not from 'working' too hard, if you know what I mean," he winked. Big mistake. Erik turned on him, and only just managed to keep his hands by his side as he glared at the shorter man, who seem to shrink even more, their faces barely an inch apart.

"If you dare speak of my wife in such a way again, you odious little man, I will have your head. Do you understand?"

"It..." Burrows licked his lips nervously. "It was just a joke..."

This time Erik _did_ raise a hand, and grabbed Burrows by his collar. "I'm not laughing. Do. You. Understand?"

"Gentleman, please," Harper cried, anxiously hovering beside them.

Burrows nodded at Erik quickly. "Understood," he gasped.

Erik nodded, not letting his satisfaction show. "Good." He straightened up and smoothed down his jacket before holding a hand out to Mr Harper. "Good to see you again, Harper."

"Likewise, Mr Muhlheim. All the best to your family."

"And yours." Erik picked up his document folder, his copy of the contract now safely inside, and left the office, ignoring Burrows completely. Once outside, he took a deep breath and tried to clear his head. His nose felt strange and there was a slight pressure either side of it and in his forehead. He felt overly warm, and he loosened his neck-tie. Then, without warning, he sneezed. "Oh, no."

* * *

It was late April and the day was mild, the sun shining happily in a cornflower-blue sky. Christine was sat on a blanket in the garden, watching lovingly as Emilie attempted to crawl, pushing herself along with determination before rolling onto her bottom to sit up and smile at her mother, as if looking for praise. Christine picked her daughter up and held up above her head, smiling as Emilie laughed. "Who's a clever girl?" Christine cooed, and Emilie babbled in reply. "Yes, you are," her mother said, proudly.

_"Christine? Christine!"_

Christine's head turned at the sound of her husband's voice. He sounded flustered, and she stood with the baby in her arms and walked back through the French doors into the living room. "Erik?" she called back, wandering towards the doorway to the hall.

"There you are! Oh..." Erik said, and backed away as Christine went towards him.

"What are you doing?" She asked, confused, frowning at her husband's strange behaviour. "What's the matter? The deal didn't fall through, did it?"

"No, no, no," he replied, shaking his head. "Can you take Emilie away?"

"Whatever for?"

Emilie squealed and reached for her father, but he backed away further, and the little girl whined, her face falling.

"Erik!"

"I don't want her to catch what I have!"

"What are you talking about? Oh..." With a sigh of frustration, Christine carried Emilie off to the nursery and placed her down in her cot, much to the little girl's annoyance, and she began to snuffle, threatening tears at any moment. "I'm sorry, my darling. I'll be back, I promise, just as soon as I've spoken to your silly papa." She gave Emilie a kiss, handed her her favourite toy, a little brown bunny with big, floppy ears, and hurried back to Erik, who had entered the living room and had flopped, quite literally, into one of the armchairs, his legs dangling over one side. Christine looked down at him, waiting for him to open his eyes and acknowledge her.

"Don't look at me like that," he said, sounding forlorn and completely not himself, his eyes remaining closed.

Christine's expression changed and she felt a little guilty for snapping at him. "You sound terrible," she said, sympathetically, realising the reason for his behaviour.

Erik's nose twitched, and quick as a flash he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket just in time to sneeze into it.

"Oh, my love," Christine said, crouching down beside him. "You've caught Francine's cold."

"I'm dying."

Christine smiled. "I don't think you are."

Erik turned his head to look at her blearily. "I _am_. I never catch colds. I've had coughs, stomach upsets, headaches, but colds are the one thing I do not get. Well, apart from once, a really long time ago, and it was _horrendous_. All that sniffing and nose-blowing - it's disgusting, and my throat feels like it's about to burst into flames, and it's ridiculous, really, because it didn't hurt earlier, and then on the way home I just felt worse and worse..." he sighed heavily, and Christine had to bite her tongue to keep herself from laughing. Here was her husband, her brave, strong, genius of a husband, getting dramatic over a cold. She knew firsthand, of course, just how horrible colds could make one feel, but it was odd seeing Erik acting as he was. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset Emilie. Does she hate me?"

"She is a little disappointed with you, yes, but she just shook her head and said that men are a law unto themselves, which, for a seven-month-old to-"

"-You're making fun of me."

"... Yes. I'm sorry. Of course you don't want her to catch it." She bent down and kissed the top of his head. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

"I can't move."

"Yes, you can. I'll help you."

"Just leave me here..."

"Erik Muhlheim, get up those stairs and get into bed."

Erik pouted, but grudgingly sat up. "Bully."

"Remember when I had a cold, and you wouldn't let me out of bed for days, or even speak?"

"That was different."

"How?"

"..."

"Exactly."

"Fine."

"Good boy." Erik scowled at that as he slowly stood, and she had to hold back another laugh. She did soften, however, once the feeling had passed. He looked so sad, and his skin was almost as grey as his neck-tie. "Time for me to look after _you _for a change."

"You shouldn't have to, and I don't want you to catch it, either," Erik replied, as they made their way slowly towards the stairs.

"Don't worry about me, and why not? You take care of us all the time."

Erik opened his mouth to speak, but Christine cut him off, knowing exactly what he was going to say. "_Don't _say that's different." They continued on their way in silence, until Christine sat him on the edge of their bed and told him to get changed. "I'll be back shortly."

"Where are you going?"

"To fetch you some honey and lemon."

Erik pulled a face.

"It's _good _for you. I find it very soothing. Your throat will thank you for it." With that, she squeezed his arm and then left the room. Her poor Erik. She'd do her best to make him feel right as rain again in no time.

* * *

Erik dozed uncomfortably, and when he woke, he felt even worse. He kicked the blankets away from him stroppily and huffed.

"What are you doing?"

He jumped at the sound of his wife's voice, having been unaware that she was in the room with him.

"Sorry," she apologised.

"It's too hot in here."

Christine moved from where she had been standing by the door, and went over to him, placing a hand gently against his head. Erik leaned into the coolness of it. "You do feel a little warm. Maybe I should call the doctor."

"No, thank you. You said that horrible brown medicine he gave you made no difference."

"No, it didn't. I'll tell you what, if you become very feverish, then I'll call him."

Erik sighed. He wouldn't win, so there was no point arguing with her. "Fine."

"Stay covered up, though," she said, pulling the blankets back over him. "I know you're uncomfortable, but believe me, staying warm is best for you.

"My ears hurt. Why do my ears hurt?"

"That's normal."

"Oh. Great." Erik knew he sounded pathetic, of course he did, and he hated himself for it, but feeling this rotten was constricting and a waste of time. He wasn't used to being confined to bed during the day, unless... he smirked, then shook his head, then cursed himself when the movement hurt.

"What's wrong?" Christine asked, frowning at him worriedly.

"I... moved too quickly." That would teach him for thinking such things when he was sick. "I hope it doesn't last long," he moaned, quickly changing the subject.

"I'm sure you'll feel better in a few days, and within about a week you should be back to normal."

"A week?!" Erik flung the blankets over his head.

"Darling, don't be so melodramatic. And I thought you were too hot?"

"I don't care. It's disgusting, but I'll sweat it out if I have to."

Christine reached out a hand to stroke his head through the covers. "I'd expect this sort of behaviour from the children, not from you," she said, affectionately. "Speaking of which, I need to go and wake Gustave for dinner. I just came in to check that you were all right."

"Wake him?"

"Yes, he..." Christine sighed. "He came home from school feeling unwell. He's not as bad as you, although, unfortunately, I'm sure that won't take long.

Erik pushed the blankets away from him and tried to sit up.

"What are you doing?" Christine put a hand against his chest to stop him. "You're not going anywhere."

"Our son is sick," Erik said, guiltily. He felt terrible. His little boy. "I'll help you."

Christine took his face in her hands and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Don't fret. I have everything under control. Francine is feeling much better, so she'll be back tomorrow to help with the children. You'll just make yourself feel worse if you go rushing about, and then you'll be ill for even longer. Stay here. Mary is making a batch of soup, and I'll bring you some once I've seen to Gustave."

Erik's head swam from where he had tried to move. Frustratingly, he had no choice but to do as he was told, and he sank back into the pillows unhappily.

* * *

"Papa?"

Erik, who had been sleeping only lightly, stirred and lifted his head weakly, looking bearily towards where the small voice had come from. There, standing in the doorway, illuminated by the candle he was holding, was his son. He looked sad and exhausted. "Gustave." He pushed himself up a little and patted the space next to him. "Come here."

Gustave obeyed willingly, placing his candle down and climbing onto the bed, his arms reaching out to be held. Erik pulled him into him, rearranging the blankets around them both. Gustave might be nearly twelve, but he was still a child, one who was poorly and needed love and comfort. In his short time as a father, Erik had never aspired to be one who made his son become a man before his time, would never attempt to toughen him up by making him suffer alone or by starving him of affection. "Where's your mother?" he asked, hoarsely.

"Asleep in the bedroom across the hall. She said she thought it was best if you slept alone, but I couldn't sleep and I thought you might not be able to, either. I didn't want to wake her - it's after midnight."

"It is?"

"Yes. My nose is blocked and I can't breathe properly. Can you?"

"No. But, I'll make a deal with you. If you try your best to go to sleep, and I try mine, when we're both better I'll take you out for the day, just you and me, go anywhere you want. How does that sound?"

"Deal. Can we go to a baseball game?"

Erik furrowed his brows. "A baseball game?"

"My friend Johnny from school goes with his father all the time and it sounds brilliant. Can we? Please?"

Erik had _never _been into sports. He knew what baseball was, of course, but he'd never felt the urge to see a game. Still, he couldn't say no, no matter how much the thought of going pained him. "Of course we can."

* * *

"Ma'am?"

"Oh, Mary, what are you doing up?"

"I was just fetching a glass of water, woke up a little thirsty. Ma'am, are you all right?" Mary pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. "Here, sit down, you look like you're about to collapse."

"I'm fine," Christine said, wearily, although she clearly wasn't, and she knew Mary wasn't stupid. "I've just been up with Emilie - I think she's coming down with this cold."

"Oh, no, not her as well. Poor little mite. No wonder you're shattered. How are our brave boys?"

Christine smiled sleepily. "Asleep, thank goodness. Gustave snuck in with Erik at some point and the two of them are snoring loud enough to wake the dead. They're usually both so quiet."

"You're lucky," Mary said, pulling out another chair for herself. "When my husband was alive I never had a peaceful night's sleep. I got used to it eventually, found ways to help block out the sound. I couldn't sleep at all when he passed - it was too quiet. God rest his soul."

"I'm sorry. I can't imagine-"

"-and you shouldn't," Mary said, cutting her off and patting her hand.

But Christine could, because she had. Over and over. She didn't even know why she'd said it. "I wanted to warm some milk for Emilie. I thought it might help soothe her. She's sleeping for now, but she's been waking every hour. I must hurry and get back to her." Christine went to rise, but Mary stopped her.

"I'll do it. You sit here and rest for a moment."

She looked at her gratefully. "Thank you, Mary." Christine propped her head up in her hands and let her eyes close, and it seemed like only seconds before Mary placed a bottle in front of her and touched her shoulder gently.

"Would you like me to see to her, so you can get some sleep?"

"That's very sweet of you to offer, but no, you go off to bed. Besides, I don't want anyone else in this household falling ill."

"If you don't mind me saying, ma'am, _you _will fall ill if you don't look after yourself."

Christine rose, picking up the bottle and letting the warmth of it seep into her hands comfortingly. Mary was right, of course, but she wasn't about to give into her. She smiled at the cook kindly. "Goodnight, Mary."

Mary sighed and shook her head, returning the smile. "Goodnight, ma'am."

* * *

The next day, Erik felt even more horrid. He didn't even think that was possible, but, clearly, it was. The curtains were pulled tightly shut, for which he was very grateful, because he was sure even a small amount of sunlight would burn his eyes and make his head explode. A snuffling sound made him turn his head, and his eyes settled on his still sleeping son, who, even in slumber, looked very uncomfortable. Erik licked his lips. They were dry. In fact, his whole mouth was dry, so licking them made no difference whatsoever. His head ached, but he needed to use the bathroom, so he had no choice but to move. He also really wanted to brush his teeth. He felt completely vile. Erik sat up slowly, moaning a little as the movement made his head spin. He reached for one of the clean handkerchiefs Christine had left by his bedside, and blew his nose, sneezing whilst doing so, and he pulled a face of complete disgust. "Urgh." As quietly as he could, he slipped from the bed, walking heavily over to where his robe was hanging and tying it about himself. Everything was so much _effort. _He then reached for his mask and wig, but he really couldn't be bothered. He was sure Christine would have told the staff not to bustle about up here while he and Gustave were still asleep, so he was almost certain he wouldn't bump into anyone who wasn't his wife. He'd risk it. It also occurred to him, not for the first time, that they would benefit from having an en suite. He would have to fix that - he wasn't entirely sure why he hadn't already.

Once in the bathroom, he went about his business, and finished with a couple of splashes of water to his face. He looked in the mirror, studied his reflection, and glared at himself. As if having one side of his face ruined wasn't bad enough, his eyes were red, the same with his nose, and stubble was starting to poke through his skin. He ran a hand over the roughness of it. It would have to stay, because he thought if he stood there any longer he might fall over.

On his way back to the bedroom, he met Christine in the hall. She looked exhausted, and he frowned, concerned. "Not you, too?"

Christine yawned and leaned against the wall. "No, Emilie."

Erik closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. "You've been up all night," he croaked. It wasn't a question, he could tell just by looking at her.

"I got an hour here and there. It's not a cold," she quickly added, "I thought it was, but I've since discovered that she has another tooth coming through. I should have realised, what with all the lovely drooling she's been doing. She's not a happy girl. A teething baby is worse than having to look after both you and Gustave." She yawned again.

"I'm sorry," Erik responded, touching her cheek lightly with his fingers. "I've been useless."

"No, I..." Christine shook her head. "I didn't mean it like that. It's not your fault you're sick, it's just one of those things."

"And how about you, how do you feel? Apart from the obvious."

His wife took a deep breath and gave him a tired smile. "I'm fine. I _promise_," she emphasised, giving him a look to match the one he was giving her. "Anyway, Francine is with her, now, so I'm going to go and have a nap, just as soon as I've looked in on Gustave,"

"He's still asleep. Besides, I'll take care of him."

Christine raised an eyebrow. "You can't even take care of _yourself_." She fingered the collar of his robe. "You thought you were dying."

Erik saw the hint of a teasing smile on her face and caught her hand in his. "I _am. _I-" He coughed, the back of his throat suddenly ticklish, and once he'd started, he couldn't stop.

"Oh, darling! Come on, back to bed and I'll fetch you some water."

Yes, he thought, definitely pathetic.

"You're not, you're just unwell."

Erik gasped a breath. "I said that out loud?"

"Yes. Now come on - bed."

* * *

Christine wiped her daughter's face and pressed a kiss to her forehead, the baby calmer now she was biting down on her teething ring. She had refused it for most of the day, preferring to cry instead before finally realising that it was the very thing that had helped her before. Chewing on her fingers had simply not been good enough. Christine had been telling her that all day - not that she'd understood, of course. "There, now, isn't that better? Honestly, what I am going to do with you all?"

Emilie gurgled in reply.

"Indeed." Christine exhaled loudly and stood up from the rocking chair she was sat in, placing Emilie down in her cot and then moaning a little as she stretched, her aching limbs thanking her for it. An hour before she had been ready to tear her hair out. She'd gotten much better as the months had gone on, but she still wavered occasionally, still had to stop and take measures to calm herself if she felt things were sliding out of her control. Nothing had happened since they'd last seen Raoul at Phantasma that cold, January day, nothing at all, and although it had taken Christine a month or so to settle back into life enough that she could continue on as normal, she was now doing very well indeed. Except when things became stressful. It wasn't that she found herself sliding backwards completely, but if she found herself in a stressful situation that she couldn't control, she'd start to shake, start to cry, start to doubt herself again until she somehow, from somewhere, she found the strength to pull herself back together again. She'd managed that every time, and she'd always told herself to be proud of that, because it meant that she could cope after all. But she was prouder now than she had been before, because she'd had to handle it without Erik by her side. At first she'd felt ridiculous, getting stressed over things people just got on and dealt with every single day, but he'd soon shown her that, actually, the fact that she never fell completely to pieces, the fact that she was able to pick herself up before she got into too much of a state, was progress, and nothing to be ashamed of at all. Now he was the one who was unwell, and their children as well, and they all needed her and she couldn't fall apart, even if she wanted to. She almost had until Emilie had stopped pushing away the teething ring and taken hold of it instead. It was as if she had been able to tell that her mother was on the verge of tears. Christine had been beyond relieved. It had meant that she could calm herself down, that she wouldn't have to wake Francine and get her to take over. That she hadn't failed.

"Hello."

Christine turned towards the doorway of the nursery to see Erik leaning against the frame. She hadn't even heard him open the door. "I suppose I should be used to you silently creeping about," she smiled.

"I don't 'creep'," Erik pouted, walking towards her.

"You look a little better."

"I _feel _a little better. Sleeping all day has done me some good, even if only by helping my headache. My throat still hurts and my nose is still stuffy, but..."

"But what?"

Her husband hung his head a little. "I don't think I'm dying anymore."

Christine laughed. "Well, I did try and tell you."

Erik sniffed, and studied her face. He frowned. "Have you been crying?"

"No," she replied, with a shake of her head.

He cupped her cheek and gently ran his thumb under her left eye. "Your eyes are red."

"I... I nearly did," she admitted, "Emilie wouldn't settle, and I was trying to do a hundred things at once, but I'm all right now. I have everything under control."

Erik stared at her a little longer, and just as Christine was about to squirm from the intensity of his gaze, he nodded, satisfied, and turned to face Emilie's cot. She smiled a dribbly smile at him from around her teething ring, and he gave her a little wave. "Did you get much sleep earlier?" he asked, turning back to Christine.

Christine flopped back down into the rocking chair. "A few hours," she said, tipping the chair back and forth, "but Emilie woke me with her crying and I felt guilty letting Francine deal with it on her own. I know she helps a lot with the children, but she's not exclusively a nanny, she never has been. I sent her on a few small errands instead, just to get her out of the house. She's been cooped up all week."

"I know. But, Christine-"

"-No 'buts'. I know what you're going to say, and I'm fine, really. I know I'm doing a lot, I know I'm tired, but I will be fine. How do you think other women without help manage?"

"Sorry, but you know I worry after... I just don't want you getting that exhausted again."

"Erik, children get sick. Grown men get sick." She got up once more and draped her arms loosely around his neck. "I'm no more tired than anyone else would be in this situation. I won't hear another word about it. Now, what are you up for, besides pestering me?"

Erik smiled and removed her arms from him, holding her hands in his instead. "I'm a little hungry. I just wanted to check on you both, first."

"Mary made a beef pie for dinner, there's some left, unless you want something a little lighter?"

"I don't think my throat can manage more than soup, I'm afraid."

"Well, I'll go down with you. Hang on a moment." Christine went over to Emilie, who was starting to drift off, checked she was all right, then ushered Erik out of the room and closed the door quietly behind her. "How's Gustave?"

"Back in his own bed and reading. I've no idea how - my eyes are so sore I can barely focus."

"Did he say if he was hungry? He managed a little dinner earlier, but I worry he's not had enough to eat today."

"Oh, erm, that's probably my fault. No, actually, it's definitely my fault."

Christine looked at him suspiciously. "Go on..."

"Well, you see, he _has _eaten today..."

"Yes...?" She crossed her arms over her chest. She had a funny feeling she knew what he was about to say, and she wasn't annoyed, not really - she couldn't blame him for wanting to do anything that might cheer their son up a bit, but still, she wasn't going to let him know that until he admitted to it, and besides, she enjoyed playing him.

"Don't be mad, but..." Erik stopped again, looking unsure, as if he was wondering whether to change his mind and lie. In the end, he didn't. "I sent Jane out to get some cough drops, and might have also asked her to bring back some pear drops and chocolate peanuts for Gustave."

Christine kept her expression blank and her voice neutral. "'Might' have?"

"Er, well, no, I did."

"I see. So Gustave didn't finish his dinner because he was stuffed full of candy?"

"... I love you?"

Christine burst out laughing, promptly putting her hands over her mouth when Erik glared at her. "I'm sorry. It's just that when you do things like that it always reminds me of just how much you've changed, and how lucky we are. Not even two years ago you are I were worlds apart... And now you're sneaking in treats for our son to cheer him up because he's sick and looking like you're about to bolt because you're worried I'll be mad at you for it, when really it just makes me love you all the more."

Now it was Erik's turn to laugh. "Very nicely saved, Madame Muhlheim."

"Merci. Although, next time..."

"Next time I won't let him eat so much that it spoils his dinner."

"Thank you. I don't suppose there was a little box of violet creams included in your order of goodies?"

Erik smiled mysteriously. "Perhaps."

Christine grinned.

* * *

A week later, and the household was back to normal. Erik was back working on his plans for Phantasma's extension, which was due to begin at the end of the coming season, Gustave was back at school, Francine was looking after a much happier Emilie and Christine was having a well-deserved rest, sitting on the beach at Coney Island with a book in her hand, the salty breeze gently blowing through her hair and the sun warm on her face. May had started well, and even though at this time of the year she knew the weather could turn at any moment, she was simply enjoying being on her own for a little while. The beach was fairly quiet, with only the locals milling about rather than hoards of visitors from the city and beyond, and she secretly wished it could always be like this, but then, that wouldn't be good for business. Christine sighed contentedly and flipped over to the next page of her novel, shifting her position slightly on her deckchair. So involved was she in the story that she didn't hear her husband approach, didn't notice him until a single yellow rose appeared in front of her face, and she jumped slightly before looking up to see him smiling down at her.

"Sorry."

"Is that for me?"

"Is there anyone else I should be giving roses to?"

Christine took the flower and smiled prettily back at him. "Thank you, darling, it's beautiful."

Erik crouched down beside her, leaned in for a kiss, and as their lips met, something wicked invaded Christine's senses, and she pushed him, just enough to knock him off-balance so he ended up sitting on the sand. She giggled at the look on his face, then pressed a kiss to his cheek. Erik tried to look put-out, but didn't quite manage it, and he ended up shaking his head at the look of childish glee on his wife's face.

"I was trying not to get myself covered in sand."

"Well, it's a good job it almost matches the colour of your suit, then, isn't it?"

"Haha. I only came to ask if you wanted to join me for lunch," he said, pretending to sulk.

"It's lunchtime already?"

"Yes, thankfully."

As he was looking toward the ocean, Christine took the opportunity to look him over. He'd clearly been working hard - his neck-tie was off and the button on his collar was undone, his jacket discarded in favour of just his waistcoat and rolled up shirtsleeves, and she couldn't help but admire the strong arms she loved so much, momentarily letting the girl in her slip through, as it often did, until she felt a blush begin to colour her cheeks and she snapped herself out of it and moved to put her book away, placing the rose carefully alongside it in her small bag with the top poking out so it didn't get crushed.

"Well, let's go, then."

Erik stood and brushed himself down, unaware of the close attention he had just been receiving, and held out a hand to help Christine up. She thanked him with a kiss and he smiled at her.

"That's better." She took his other hand and linked their fingers together, and he turned his head a little so he could lean the unmasked part of his forehead against hers, and they just stood there for a moment, gazing at each other, before walking hand in hand towards the boardwalk.


End file.
